


The Final Rebellion

by autumn_soldier



Series: The Final Rebellion [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Branding, Collars, Consensual Sex, Dragon Gabriel, Emotional Hurt, Food, Forced Marriage, King Crowley, M/M, Mage Sam, Master/Slave, Non-Consensual Tattooing, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Sexual Slavery, Oral Sex, Prince Castiel, Prince Gabriel, Prince Lucifer, Princess Anna, Prostitution, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Sam, Punishment, Romantic Soulmates, Sex, Sexual Assault, Slave Adam, Slave Dean, Slave Sam, Slavery, Swords & Sorcery, Symbolism, Threats, Threats of Violence, Tooth Pulling, Tortured Dean, Verbal Abuse, Violent Thoughts, non consensual nudity, prince samandriel, the selling of sexual favors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 25,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5270603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumn_soldier/pseuds/autumn_soldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Milton clan has been beaten down by the Mcleods, the royals imprisoned and the rebellion crushed, the Kingdom of Elysium is overrun with hellspawn. But in a treacherous castle where dragons sleep in shackles and torture chambers build monsters of men, hope never dies.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Précédemment

**Author's Note:**

> so guess who didn't sleep and read way too much medieval fanfiction and became inspired to start her own series? i can always justify a swashbuckling self-indulgent medieval!au, why not. This will probably be terrible, but I know i'm going to enjoy it.  
> have a gratuitous prologue

Long long ago, the kingdom of Elysium was fruitful and idyllic. Centred in the North parts, the land was blessed with healthy crop, fertile land and frequent rain. Elysium was often known simply as ‘heaven’. At the time, this nickname had been wholly accurate.

      The Country was ruled by the Milton Clan, founded by King Charles I. Before passing on, the kind King and his Queen, Naomi, bore many children to continue their reign after them. The throne was succeeded by their oldest son; crowned Michael of the Golden Sword. He ruled Elysium with grace and justice, and his iron-clad fist brought much to the land. Truces were established, peace treaties were made, and before long the country had eliminated any threat of war for the next decade. Such was the reign of King Michael. Swift, clean, and efficient.

Overshadowed hugely were the remainder of the royal family, the princes and princesses. Prince Gabriel and Lucifer immediately succeeded Michael, both remembered for a specific reason. Gabriel was a jester (not as a job of course, but because he loved to make others laugh) and a gifted well-known Mage. Lucifer was a sullen but talented young man, and contented himself as a scholar and a swordsman. He was not known for making friends or indeed, obeying orders. He preferred to remain out of the watchful eye of court.

Down the line was Princess Anael. Known throughout the land for her free spirit and authority, she defied all expectations placed on her. Upon her 16th birthday Anael was made Captain of the King’s Guard, becoming easily the best swordswoman or archer the Kingdom’s army possessed. It was thanks to her that more women slowly began to trickle in from the commoner’s ranks, and Elysium gained much from Anna's determination.

The youngest of the Royal family were the princes; Castiel and Samandriel. Blue-eyed Castiel was brave, and an avid reader, and had worked his way through the palace library by the time he was seven years old. Samandriel, the baby of the family at only four, was sufficiently coddled. This may have had something to do with his huge deep eyes, or the way the baby prince toddled about the kingdom like a lamb, but the boy couldn't walk more than two steps before finding himself in a pair of warm arms.

      To the South of Elysium lived a wayward clan of demons; dark mages and evil folk, and their realm was named Infernum, or simply, Hell. Hearing word from a well-concealed spy about the happy kingdom of the North, the ruler of Infernum: King Crowley, made plans to overthrow the quaint little land.

Overthrow it, the King made certain he did.

On the tenth anniversary of Crown King Michael’s reign, Elysium was overpowered by the armies of Infernum, let in by the traitor, prince Lucifer. Prince Lucifer had been supplying Crowley with information for years, under the condition that once Heaven was overthrown, he would be the one to rule it. The Prince was tricked, and upon Crowley’s invasion Lucifer was locked away forever by the evil he let in.

Once captured, The Royal Family was divided and cut into sections, so as to keep them from conspiring together. King Michael accompanied his traitor brother Lucifer, enslaved in the New King’s palace, to wait on his every need. Next in the bloodline was Princess Anael, made a servant of the Royal bedchamber. The middle son, Gabriel, was spirited away to God knows where. Not a soul knew Prince Gabriel’s wherabouts except for Crowley, all that is known is that the Prince was a gifted Mage, and the demon would be a fool if he did not milk the King’s brother of every ounce of power that he had.

The Princes, Castiel and Samandriel were locked up in a tower, until King Crowley may produce fine strapping sons to wed them, joining their families for good. Crowley had many wives and male consorts (most of them war trophies), so the birth of the sons could happen at any time. Until their husbands emerged, the boys were left to reach maturity in solitude, visited by no one but their guards.

     Within six months, already chafing under the command of Crowley, the people stepped forward and lead a bloody revolt, lead by the peasant named John Winchester, who was to be remembered throughout history.

They were subdued when Azazel (the new Captain of the Royal Guard) and his demonic army stormed their homes by nightfall, offering an ultimatum to their leader. The conditions were made very simple for John. _You may continue to rebel, and the Army shall take your three children to be boiled alive and served to you on a platter, skin teeth and all. Or, you could give yourself up and be hanged at daybreak, and your sons will live out their days as slaves, as both punishment for their treachery and as a warning to others you inspired with your crime._

John chose the latter. He gave up his three sons; Dean, Sam and Adam Winchester, to be enslaved by the Kingdom. Rumour had it that the older brother, Dean, had needed to be restrained by six men when the Royal Guard came to take the boys away, and the oldest had been only just eighteen. Sam and Adam, the young ones, were removed and forgotten, but the story is not over, as debts are made when blood is shed. King Crowley still felt the sting that the revolt had left behind, questioning his reign as New King of the New Infernum. He resolved to make an example to his people, and so an example the King soon made.

      Dean was sent down into the pits of what had once been the happy abode of royalty, into the bowels of the Castle dungeons with the likes of Alastair (The greatest torturer in the land.) There, for ten years the man was slowly stripped of his identity, his morals, his honour, and himself. What was left was unveiled to King Crowley on his birthday, and presented as a gift. A perfect, tall, golden warrior, with eyes as empty as green glass beads. He was collared with steel, and given a new name. _Canis_. It was a Latin word, and an insult in itself, for Canis, translated roughly, meant dog. Canis was chained to the King’s armrest in the throneroom, kept permanently bound to his side. He became a vigilant guardian, and permanent reminder of what happened to traitors. Or, the innocent sons of traitors, of course.

The story you are about to hear takes place on the fourth day of Winter, on the thirteenth year of Crowley’s terrible reign. The name ‘Elysium’ had well and truly died with the spirits of it’s people, and the New Infernum took it’s place. You are soon to hear the story of the Final Rebellion.

 


	2. Just past Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Samandriel's POV, the first of many. An introduction to Adam Winchester. Or, the man he has become.  
> **Mentions of non-consensual bondage, threat of forced marriage and physical punishment toward slaves**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of many character pov's, to let readers know the ins and out's of castle life. Sam's POV is on it's way.

Samandriel woke to the sound of birdsong, which had long ago become his favourite sound. He leapt from his cot, causing his brother to stir, and pressed himself against the bars of their cell window. If he leant up on tiptoe, and angled his body just right, and screwed one eye shut he was granted a clear view of the sky through the thick iron bars. He had thrown some of what little food they had for supper yesterday evening out onto the roof for the birds, and he grinned wide as he saw a family of robins enjoying his gift.

It was just past dawn, and the sky was pale as milk. Soon the prince’s breakfast would be brought to them, and it was a Saturday, wich meant Adam would be there. The slave who brought their meals every other day was Samandriel’s closest friend save for his brother, and he was glad that he would soon hear his voice.

Castiel groaned from the cot they shared, and the baby prince turned round. His older sibling had never been much of a morning person - he blamed Samandriel for that entirely. Samandriel had nightmares, which resulted in Castiel being beaten senseless while they slept, Samandriel’s limbs flailing in an attempt to ward off the phantom attacks in his head, meaning Cas rarely had time to rest. Apologetic as he was, there wasn’t much Samandriel could do. Having nightmares was stupid. All of his worst fears had already come true.

      “Shut _up,_ ” Castiel muttered fervently into their pillow. Samandriel sighed. His brother did not share his tendency to wake early either, and so each and every morning, the birds were met with verbal assault.

Samandriel soon busied himself with washing, and lighting a fire. Clean clothes were not given, and so cleaning their garments was left to the two princes. Adam was perfectly willing to bring them water from the stream so that they could wash, and he had clearly done so the previous night. Samandriel knelt in the corner by the fireplace, and applied enough pressure between two twigs that they burst into a tiny blue flame, and soon warmth blessed his blue fingertips.

He splashed his face and hair with the icy water, shuddering at the sensation, but it would take far too long to heat up. Once he had sufficiently woken up with such a washing, he chewed on a herb leaf that grew freely outside their window. Adam told him it was wild mint, and he found it improved the taste in his mouth in the morning.

He was halfway through scrubbing his overshirt in the water bucket, when Adam knocked on their cell door. He was the only guard ever to do that, not just out of politeness, but so that the brother’s knew it was him. There were many guards who were so loyal to Crowley that they’d do anything to torment the princes, and it was nice to know who was about to enter their cell, and whether they should be pleased, or terrified.

Samandriel straightened, and spat the root into the fire, making it crackle and hiss.

       “Come in, Adam,” he called gently. There was the sound of jangling keys in the cold stiff lock, and their cell door creaked open. Technically, the rules said that both princes must be shackled whenever their cell door was opened; a rule that proved painful and tiresome, especially when their door was opened for meals three times every day. Adam skipped past such rules, and Samandriel would never run while Adam was there. Any slave who let a Milton run free would be fed to the King for supper, and he could never let that happen.

      “Mornin’,” The slave grunted, setting down their breakfast tray on the floor next to the sleeping Castiel. Castiel sat up, knuckling his eyes and shivering.

“Thank you,” he returned to their friend, head bowing slightly. Adam only spared him a glance and a nod before dropping to his knees beside the younger prince.

“Hey, angel-face.”

“Hello, Adam,” Samandriel smiled at the affectionate nickname, tugging the boy closer to the small fire, rubbing his nose in his thin shirt. Adam’s clothes were as ragged and worn as Samandriel’s, though he had been a prisoner for longer, and the boy was no more immune to the cold than they were. Adam allowed himself to be pulled, easily spinning the prince round until his back was pressed against Adam’s sternum. Samandriel relaxed there, pulling Adam’s thin, scarred arms around his own neck and breathed. Happiness hid itself well in times of duress. In this situation it lived behind stormy grey eyes and rare sweet smiles.

A new wound to Adam’s arm had Samandriel frowning, and looking closer. It was a welt where a whiplash had very nearly broken skin but not quite, leaving the pain to dance tauntingly on raw nerve endings.

“Zachariah again?” He asked quietly. Adam nodded in return, rubbing the arm in an attempt to conceal it.

“Let me see,” Castiel said gently, standing up from the bed. Adam obediently held up his appendage to be scrutinised, and Cas tutted, going to a crevice in the wall above a fireplace. The two brothers saved scraps of fabric from old clothes or rugs for the singular purpose of injuries caused by Crowley’s men, and kept them hidden in the walls. Cas sat down on the other side of Adam and placed his arm in his lap, binding it in a strip of dirty linen. Adam was still throughout the treatment, but flexed and grimaced as Cas knotted the bandage.

“Thanks, Cas,” He grumbled, smiling wanly at the older prince. Castiel shrugged and brought over the tray, dividing the meal into three parts, as was their habit. The guards worked on rotation, and Adam would serve them every other day. When he came to bring them meals, Cas and Samandriel were sure to share with him. Whether he liked it or not, they would not allow their friend to leave hungry. They knew he wouldn’t be fed properly elsewhere.

Samandriel dug greedily into his portion of dry bread with watered-down ale, his brother beside him doing the same. Adam, as usual, tried to push the bread toward the princes, and the royal brothers exchanged looks.

      Calmly, Castiel brought Adams arms together behind him, holding the slave still so that he could not refuse. Adam huffed reproachfully, not particularly strong or able to fight back - Samandriel was sure that the two of them were evenly matched, but Adam knew he didn’t have to earnestly defend himself. With Adam secured, Samandriel pressed strips of the roll into his mouth, while the sullen slave sat in the hold of Castiel, chewing silently. This was the only way they could ensure that Adam would eat without feeling guilty, and it was a habit they had kept for many years. The boy had a steady moral code, and was against accepting food from suffering prisoners. However, if the so-called suffering prisoners were to pin him down and force-feed him, he was both blameless and guilt-free. It did not stop him being grumpy, however.

“ _mfm,_ ” Adam grunted moodily, as the final piece of bread was pressed into his reluctant mouth. Samandriel smiled, and threw a look to his brother. Castiel released Adam, and despite himself, the boy nodded in thanks.

“Any news?” Castiel asked, going to warm himself while Samandriel laid his head on Adam's thigh. The slave ran slim fingers through his hair and down his back, soothing him.

“None. Whole place has been quiet since I last saw you both,” Adam reported, leaning his back against the wall as he petted the prince.

“No news from Luci, or Anael or Michael?” Samandriel asked hopefully, looking up. Adam cracked a smile and nodded, dipping into his undershirt, where he smuggled messages between the siblings. For thirteen years the royals had been keeping this up, with Adam becoming their obedient messenger once he joined their miserable ranks. Before him they had relied on servants, the few that remained to the true crown of Elysium Cas and Samandriel huddled together, pouring over the little papers that Adam handed to them.

If found smuggling messages, Adam could face death or worse. So, the royals had long since figured out an original writing code, disguising a secret message as simple letters and words; so that if they were found on his person, Adam could merely say that he was learning how to read.

      Castiel, ever the scholar, deciphered the message in minutes. This particular message was from their sister, Anael. Anael was a maid of the Royal Bedchamber, and it was a poorly-concealed taunt. When enslaving the pioneer for equal military opportunities for all genders, why give her hard tasks that challenged her strength? Better to condescend her, and leave her to a lifetime of scrubbing chamber pots and pouring baths for Crowley’s children.

The brothers read the message fast:

_We are all still alive, not ill or wounded. Meg and Brady are growing up, and their father is itching for husbands for the both of them, so be on your guard. Don't draw attention, don't disobey. Give him no excuses to pick either of you._

_I love you._

_\- Anael_

_PS: Still no sign of Gabriel_

     Castiel pressed the letter to his heart, and after he was done Samandriel did the same. Thy tenderly each kissed the dusty parchment, and hid it in a nook in their wall behind the bed with the other notes. They hadn’t seen their sister in thirteen years, and hearing anything from her made them miss her even more.

Sensing the prince was about to weep, Adam pulled Samandriel onto his lap, cradling him. Samandriel hiccupped and allowed himself to be held, nuzzling in the warmth Adam’s chest produced for him. Seeing that Castiel needed it too, Adam tugged the older Milton over and slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling both of the princes into a hug. They welcomed the touch, and lay there a while; fire crackling in the grate as they sat and stared into space.

Before he began to doze, a thought fluttered into Samandriel's mind. If he were to be forced into marriage, he’d far prefer Adam over Brady MacLeod.


	3. "Some Day"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A morning in the mind of Sam Winchester, and his golden companion, Gabriel.  
> **Mentions of slave branding and non-consensual tattooing, performed on a minor. If this triggers you, message me for a chapter summary, so you can read the story safely.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo here's Sam's POV, detailing his communications with Adam and a brief history of Gabriel (after having been turned into a dragon) teaching him sorcery, turning Sam into a mage with the power of his mind. Brief glimpses of psychic!Sam, which i hope all of you appreciate. For everyone who was interested in Sam's POV, hope you enjoy.  
> Adam's POV, a look at Anna and Canes coming up next.

Sam awoke with the dawn chorus. He muttered angrily, sitting up and straightening his back from his position against the stone wall, the ice of the castle dungeon creeping into him like a sickness. A low sound of heavy breathing warmed him, coaxing the chill of morning air out of his bones. He smiled, sore lips cracking open as he did.

      “Thank you,” he whispered, petting the snout of the colossal dragon resting it’s head on his lap. The huge golden creature inclined its head in reply, before breathing out enough hot air to breathe life into Sam Winchester’s frail chilled bones. That was enough to make him grin.

“Good morning,” he chuckled, batting at Gabriel. The beast was not to be deterred, and breathed again into his face. Giggling as it tickled, Sam moved away as best he could. When he reached the other side of the cell, he was out of is playmate’s reach, for the creature was chained to the floor. He had always been that way, ever since Sam had first been thrown into the dungeon, on that night in the middle of summer.

As he rose and walked past Gabriel - who had stopped playing games, realizing Sam was thinking hard - he welcomed the cold.  He would always prefer the cold over the dry, sweltering heat that plagued him, on the night that he was stolen. The night he stopped being Sammy Winchester, son of the rebel, and started being called on by his reg. number only. The night he lost it all. 

      There was no sense getting worked up about it, he was thirteen years too late. The damage was done, and nothing better was coming. Sam tugged up his left sleeve, seeing that he needed a history lesson. His name was 10532, he could never forget the number, branded into his wrist . Next to it was Crowley’s insignia: a snake being slowly ripped apart by a wolf. It had been specially made for the invasion, it seemed, for the winged serpent was the Milton family crest. The numbers and brand screamed at him, mocking him. _You are a slave_ , they hissed and spat. _You are a slave, Dean is a slave, and Adam is a slave. Your father is dead and you are all alone._

“I know,” Sam whispered quietly. Sleepily getting up, Gabriel extended his wingspan, sinew popping as human muscles did when stretched. The outlandish noise made Sam shudder.

 _Quit whining, Sammy,_  the dragon shot at him grumpily, rolling over to try and rest a little longer. Gabriel had not always communicated this way. When Sam was first captured, neither of them spoke with each other. The creature had had to earn his trust before reaching into his mind and depositing his message. That was how the dragon talked.

Thankfully, he could sense when Sam needed his own mind to become a private place, and disconnected when Sam asked. This had clearly been one of those times, and the slave boy was thankful for that.

“Shut it, dragon,” he returned affectionately, lighting a fire at the far end of the dungeon. The depths of the castle were built like a labyrinth, and for some reason the containment of this dragon was so important that an entire layer of the space was dedicated to him. Sam slept, ate and lived with him, because his job was to make sure the dragon did not die. It seemed cruel to prolong the life of a creature built to fly if all that awaited him was captivity, but Sam could do nothing. Even if he was gripped by a sudden death wish and decided to free the beast, he couldn’t. There were no large unbarred windows to the dungeon, the entrance was only large enough to accommodate a human. Sam often marvelled at how they had managed to get the creature down here in the first place, and since asking had given him nothing, he could only assume the bricks had been laid around him.The air was warmed slowly through the fire Sam had made, and his cellmate turned around. His eyes were large and gold, like coins as they looked questioningly at Sam. The request hung in the air, and Sam nodded. Understanding the permission, Gabriel entered his mind space, opening the link that allowed the two of them to speak.

 _You’re thinking too much,_ Gabriel informed him, thwacking his tail against the ground. Sam placed his foot on the appendage, so the fire would not be extinguished.

“I’m thinking just enough, thanks. If you’d let me into that brain of yours maybe we’d have more to share,” he replied bitterly. It had always plagued Sam; how Gabriel was allowed full access to his brain (unless he decided to look away), and Sam was disallowed any glimpse into his, other than the words that Gabriel selected, and placed into his head . He had questions, so many questions he longed to pepper at the dragon, like: _Who are you really? Why are you in here? Where did you come from?_

Each and every one had been met with a flat silence when asked. For thirteen years, he’d been answered with: _Sorry, Samm-o. Brain’s off-limits to everyone but me._

When asked for a simple reason, Gabriel would simply return with: _Because it doesn’t matter._

Only it did. To Sam, it did.

An idea hit the prisoner. Turning his head a fraction from where he was facing the fire, he closed his eyes. He envisioned a wall, shimmering and translucent, tinged yellow like a flame. It encapsulated Gabriel like a forcefield, detaining all his mental space inside. Sam extended a hand in his mind’s eye, pressed his palm against the yellow wall, and _pushed...._

_Good try, Sammy. Not good enough, though._

The energy of the wall zapped him back with a frustrating pop! and left the Winchester exhausted and with nothing. Angrily he sighed, shoulders dropping in defeat.

“What was it this time? I just woke up, I have energy, it should’ve worked,” he protested.

 _Learn to ignore what isn’t worth acknowledging._ Gabriel told him, ruffling his wings. This exchange was over, and Gabriel only fidgeted like that when hungry. Conquered yet again, Sam went to collect their breakfast.

      Sam had first attempted to lower the barrier when he was six. Having only been in the dungeon a year, and barely understanding the permanent nature of his situation, he’d grown curious. Who was this being he shared a cell with? Why did he talk only silently, and why wouldn’t he answer his queries?

In answer, Gabriel had responded with: I _have a wall around my head. I put it there myself. No one is allowed in, ‘cept for me and only me. If you can see it, you can break it if you try hard enough. Bet you can’t, though._

This teasing had enraged the child, causing him to scream at the top of his lungs until the dragon wearily agreed to show him. Lowering his enormous head, Gabriel had instructed him to close his eyes and then open them. Confused at the simplicity of such an action, Sam had done so and noticed no change. Patiently Gabriel had blown warmth onto his face to cheer him up.

_No, little one. Keep your eyelids closed but your third eye open. We do that by thinking enough that we can see things folks like to keep hidden. Try again, you can do it._

It had taken almost six months for their constant practice to reap any kind of reward. Sam had tried every day for hours until he cried with exhaustion, and awoke at dawn the next day in the warm scales of Gabriel’s back. One day, he’d tried so hard he could swear his head would split open...and it had worked.The misty, veiled world his third eye uncovered was better than Sam had ever imagined. Through it, he saw the golden dome around Gabriel’s head, and now his objective was to break it. That about brought the story up to date, for try as he might, Sam hadn’t managed to. Yet.

Sam brought over the barrel of stinking, bloody meat. It was off-cuts, food not good enough for scraps to be given to the dogs, and that was what Gabriel ate. His dragon friend looked at it, and Sam could swear he saw his friend grimace. He sighed, placing the barrel before him. Gabriel nudged against his face in thanks before turning away to eat. Sam politely averted his eyes, attacking his bread and potatoes with vigour.  He rarely got vegetables, so today was a good day. The kitchen staff must be feeling generous.

When the two were finished eating, a tap sounded from the door. Sam’s head lifted, with more energy than he thought was in him, and he ran to it at once.

      The face of the orange-haired slave girl who glanced at him through the square opening in the cell door was a face that Sam knew. Charlie, an old friend of Dean’s, who now worked in the kitchens with Adam after aiding in the rebellion. Sam never got to see his younger brother, his duties were too far away, but Charlie was willing enough to risk her life to carry their messages to one another. They had been keeping this up for years, and Sam had taught his baby brother to read in this way - Gabriel over his shoulder, nodding at each correct word and snorting at every wrong one before they sent little Adam his lessons for the day.

Charlie passed the rolled parchment through, and smiled at him a little. Sam reached his hand up through the opening, and Charlie reached up, too. Their dirty palms touched for a moment, and then his friend was gone in a second.

 _News from your brother, kiddo?_ Gabriel inquired, lifting his head and tail with interest. Sam nodded eagerly, running back over to nestle in the comfort of under Gabriel’s wing. Gabriel lifted it to accommodate him, then read over his shoulder as Sam pored over the note. He needed Gabe to read it and then tell him the meaning of the symbols on the page, because Sam struggled despite his cleverness. Gabriel had taught him the code to help them, and without the dragon there it would take him hours to decipher the messages he so desperately had to hear.

It was short, as they usually were. Adam assured him that he was alive and not sick, though he mentioned a beating from Zachariah that made Sam’s jaw clench and Gabriel's fangs grind together. Adam had not been approached by any predatory members of the King’s Guard (which Sam made him assure him for the peace of his own worried mind, especially since Adam had almost come of age), and the princes in the tower were well. Sam smiled as that piece of news finished the letter. He knew Adam had a softness for the youngest prince, Samandriel.

 _Sounds like a good note, no one’s hurt,_  Gabriel said, nudging the back of Sam’s head gently. Sam butted his head against Gabe’s muzzle, and pressed the note against his chest beneath his shirt.

“Yeah,” he agreed, smiling a little. It was not the news he wanted however, and both Adam and Gabe knew that. He longed for the day that someone would tell him: _A miracle! Canis, the King’s Dog has thrown off his metal chains, regaining his former memories as Dean Winchester, son of the Revolutionist, and he has slaughtered every noble in the land of New Infernum!_

It was a morbid hope to entertain, but Sam wanted it so much it made him hurt. He wanted his brother, the one who had died on the King’s birthday, when Crowley was presented with Canis, the guard-dog of New Infernum. He knew not what they had done to his big brother, he only knew they had replaced him with someone else, someone who dared to wear his older brother’s green eyes.

Gabriel batted the boy onto his back, nuzzling his snout into Sam’s belly to make him laugh. Squealing at the tickling Sam tried to fight, but he was powerless under the attacks of the ridiculous beast who was his best and closest friend.

 _It’s gonna be okay, Sammy,_  Gabriel reminded him gently, as he grudgingly allowed him to stand. Touching the beasts' side in solidarity, Sam nodded.

“I know. Some day.”


	4. "Do so Discreetly"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam delivers the princes' reply to Anael, and is caught in the act and questioned by Canis, the dog who once bore the name Dean Winchester.  
> **Non-consensual nudity, collars, the selling of sexual favours.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's on a roll. Short POV chapter for Adam passing on messages to Anael from the princes, and Canis catching them both in the act. The beginning of a larger plot, but bear with me, I'm making it all up as I go along.

The castle was busy, more so than usual. It was a trade-day, and so many peasants were flocking to court, eager to offer what little they had to sell. There were ladies pedalling silk and linen, men begging passing soldiers to buy their strong shoe-leather, and many scantily-clad young men and women approached the milling nobles, offering an hour or two of their time and personal services. Adam had to avert his eyes when a desperate girl had advanced towards an old, balding aristocrat, nursing a baby as she begged for a coin. Adam was grateful she had not offered to sell the child, and released a breath of relief when the lord she was asking nodded, and the girl almost wept as she passed the baby off to a friend and followed him to his chambers, ready to earn enough money to feed the baby for the month and, if she was lucky, herself as well.

Except the youngest Winchester was not in the court to trade. Slaves were forbidden, as they were objects to be sold. It was foolish for an item to sell an item, and though Adam hated that, he was not there to argue. He was there to pass on a message, and he could see his fellow courier now.

      Anael was in the corner of the room, serving wine and ale to the passing nobles as they passed her with disdain. She had obviously done something to upset someone in the castle, for today the Princess was naked, and her glossy eyes trained straight ahead. Sympathy sunk in the slave-boy’s stomach, and as he approached her he turned to a cloth-trader, gripping her head and kissing her mouth without preamble. He knew this trader, her name was Rowena, and he’d exchanged his body for help with her before. The trader enjoyed the taste of desperation on his tongue before releasing him, smacking his thigh and tossing him a silver coin. Adam bowed, and exchanged it for a man’s shirt from her stock pile.

He came over to Anael, handing her the shirt he had purchased with a kiss. She sighed, handing her tray of wine to Adam as she hurriedly donned the shirt. It was long and covered all that was not to be seen, and Anael smiled genuinely at Adam as she took back the tray from him.

      “Thank you. I owe you one.”

“Rowena was eyeing me anyway. How long have you been standing here, Highness?”

Even when she stood collared, barely clothed and branded before him, when Adam looked at Anael he only ever saw a Royal, thus he spoke to her in kind. Though they’d never formally spoken about it, Anael could never frown when she was spoken to with the title she so fondly remembered.

“Since midnight. I threw water on the prince.”

Adam cringed. An action that would earn him a hundred lashes. However, the Princess (though she despised this) was a dear favourite of the King.

“How long will you be out here, Highness?” He queried.

“Another day or two, give or take. The King has a soft spot for me when I’m angry, so I doubt he’ll keep me punished for too long.”

Adam could not deny this. Crowley loved enraging the Princess, so much so that she was practically rewarded for foul play. Prince Brady loved to goad her, but he was easily put in his place.

“Do you have any message?” Anael asked lowly, as Adam was assuming a stance beside her. If passing guards saw them like this, they’d assume he was on duty with her.

“I do, Highness,” the slave returned, and behind his back passed her the parchment, which he had concealed beneath his collar. She took it and slipped it into her own, nodding.

“How do they fare?” Was the Princess-slave’s next question. Just thinking of the princes made Adam just a little happier.

“Just as they did when you asked last, Highness. Cas looks after him well. Neither have new wounds, but if they did you know I’d care for ‘em. They ask after you, also. What would you like me to say to them, Highness?”

“Tell them I am well, and that I need them to be well, also.”

Something passed the Royal’s face, and it told Adam quickly to drop his shoulders and look to the ground. Slaves spoke in a silent tongue, they spoke in widened eyes and bitten lips. Anael's fear meant that they were being watched. From his stare trained on the floor, a pair of feet appeared. Adam dared not look, but he knew at once who stood before him. The smell of brick and blood and iron betrayed Canis from a mile off.

      “State your business,” Canis barked, fitting for his name. Adam didn’t lift his eyes as he hurried to answer, desperate to keep composure. Canis had once been his brother, after all.

“I am serving ale with 10261,” he responded. He’d memorised Anael’s code, as all slaves were encouraged to do for each other, so that they may state their business and who they worked with, without awkwardly having to peer at a slave’s wrist to refresh their memory. A hand shot out, too rough and too warm, gripping his wrist and turning it, baring Adam’s code, also. Adam took this moment to look up, and gulped back sobs. There was nothing he knew in the guard-dog’s eyes.

“Got a soft spot for witches, huh?” Canis smirked, referring to Rowena the tradeswoman. It was known among many that the old girl practised magic, that was the only reason Crowley kept her around to harass his slaves.

Not wanting to admit his defiance of Crowley’s command by covering a punished slave-girl, Adam panicked.

“Yes,” he blurted, immediately flushing red. Canis threw his head back to laugh without mirth, and the sound send shudders down his spine, and Anael's, too.

“I see. Well, next time you want to sneak a message to another slave,” he whispered dangerously, picking Adam up by his collar and slamming him into the wall. Adam choked, wind whooshing out of him, and black starbursts dancing in the corners of his vision.

"Do so discreetly,” Canis finished, dropping him. Adam hit the ground hard and took a second to breathe, before scrambling again to his feet.

“Yes,” he responded at once, obediently looking to the floor. Anael remained stock-still by his side, both of them waiting for the King’s slave to whip the skin from their backs. Passing messages was forbidden, and they’d be charged for treason. They did not want to visit the depths of the castle...they didn’t know if they’d come out as themselves ever again.

      The blow they were waiting for never came. When Adam looked up several seconds later, Canis was on the other side of the room, going back to the throne at the center. Crowley was not present, probably somewhere causing mischief, so Adam watched with morbid interest as the man formerly known as Dean bent beside the throne. He bowed his head like the dog he was, and did not move again.

“ _Go,_ Adam,” Anael hissed, and Adam obeyed at once. He ducked out of the court and behind a nearby tapestry, breathing hard, and not just because he’d been choked. He’d been caught passing messages, and yet Canis had not punished them. What did this mean? Would he still tell the prince? What was to happen?

Bone-weary from panic, Adam returned to the kitchens. He would return as soon as he could for Anael's reply to the brother’s, and after the bells of the tower tolled for midday, he could return to serve lunch to the princes. He looked forward to that. He longed to bury his worries in the arms of a blue-eyed innocent.


	5. Idiot or Sweet Enough to Savour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kings Dog pays a visit to the Princes in the Tower.  
> *violent death/violence and mentions of torture from the past*. most of this chapter is Canis/Dean's POV, and so as you can imagine, the guy's no sweetie. This thing gets unpleasant pretty quickly.

Their door was hammered on while the sky was still black on the following day, shaking both princes from their wretched dreams. Cas bolted upright, brushing sleep from his eyes and automatically pressing himself in front of Samandriel. No one was to harm the baby prince on his watch.

     “Who goes there?” he called out, demanding tone injected with all the courage left within him. There was a round of laughter, and then the rattling of chains.

      “Very cute, princeling. Both of you, on your knees,” returned Ruby, one of the most feared and hated guards in New Infernum. Looking at each other wearily, the princes both knelt beside their cot, bowing their heads and clasping their hands behind their backs. They knew what this was for. The moment the lock sprang free, they’d be manacled to ensure they could not escape while the door was open. Not every guard was as lenient as Adam when it came to the rules in the tower. There was nothing to be done but obey. Sure enough the bolt broke free and two guards rushed them. One took charge of Samandriel, pressing the prince’s face into the ground and weighing down his wrists with heavy irons. Castiel growled, and fell still, knowing that his cooperation would ensure Samandriel was not hurt. This show of submission was enough to make the guard loosen his grip, allowing Samandriel to lift his head. Castiel felt the familiar iron shackles close around his hands, and was resigned.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Shut it, blue.” Ruby returned, stalking into their room like a predator. Ruby was previously loyal to their brother Lucifer, and had despised the way Michael handled Elysium when he had worn the crown. Adam said that she slept with Princess Meg whenever she got the chance, and that everybody knew she was only loyal to Crowley because he was on the winning side. She thought Anna had a thing for her, but Anna only let the black-haired guard taste her when it meant she’d get out of chores.

“I’m here to introduce a guest. Someone requested to see the two of you, and they wouldn’t tell me why,” she said, pacing around the small cell, and lifting the blankets to their cot. The prince brothers watched her vacantly. 

“And who might that be?” Samandriel enquired. Ruby grinned at him, and Cas fidgeted in his restraints. He dreamed of slicing off that pretty head and mounting it on a pike, just as Michael had done with enemies. His hatred for the guard frightened him.

“Only the most favoured slave in the castle,” she returned, and both Cas and Samandriel exchanged a worried glance as they realised who that meant.

“I’ll leave you both with him, since I don’t seem to be welcome here,” the clever snake purred, going towards the door. She knew they feared Canis, guard-dog of the King, and that was why she teased them. Castiel resolved to leave her bait where she'd set it.

“Please, invite him in. I wouldn’t want him to catch cold out there.”

Ruby snarled like a back alley cat, and stormed from the room, annoyed she’d not managed to frighten them. Little did she know that Castiel’s stomach was a hurricane, and likely Samandriel’s too. They’d heard much about Canis - what little remained of the family who fought to free them in the Revolution. John and his army had fought well, but their defiance had met with a sticky end, and Canis was a part of that. They had certainly never met him, but apparently they were about to.

 

 

Canis stepped into the tiny cell, looking and feeling like an animal in a cage that was just slightly too small. He’d had to hunch to enter the doorway, and the prisoners before him filled up most of the space. The lack of room did not stop the little cell being draughty, and he froze upon entering, glad to know his Master’s prisoners would suffer the harshest conditions.

     “So, Prince Castiel,” he spoke lowly, bending his knee to lift the chin of the nearest prince. His hair was short yet so unruly, and his eyes were deep ice-blue. They eyed him without contempt, or the anger he was expecting. Curiosity was the only thing that lived within those eyes.

It took the Royal a second to find his tongue, and then he wet his plump lips before answering.

      “That is my name,” he returned, voice deep, vibrating through his jaw where Canis’ hand was tilting him up. The slave had to applaud the princes’ boldness.

“So it is. And this one…”

He moved onto the younger, blonder model, and he didn’t miss the look of hostility that the older prince threw at him when he did. He gripped the boy’s dirty yellow hair to force him to meet his eye, earning a wince from Samandriel, who still met his eyes with as much wonder as his brother had.

“The Princes in the Tower. For some reason the term resounds,” Canis acknowledged mockingly.

“We are honoured that you think so,” Castiel returned, dry as bone. Canis liked his sarcasm, savoured the bite in his words. Nobody seemed to have that.

“As much pleasure as it gives me to be meeting you both, I’m here on business,” Canis went on, taking his time to let the tension grow. These boys probably got next to no visitors, save from the witch-loving blonde he’d caught yesterday. They were both dying to know what warranted a visitor, especially the King’s favourite pet.

“I met a slave yesterday afternoon. A skinny one, hair like yours-” he gestured to Samandriel “-but darker. He spoke with your sister, that red-haired slut who still thinks she’s a princess. Do you know of the slave I mean?”

He relished the rage that pulsed in the air around both princes, oozing from every pore like poison.

“Ah, so you know him.”

Canis was beginning to enjoy himself.

“ _You will not speak of our sister in that way,_ ” Castiel snapped, anger overpowering his access to his own common sense. Samandriel flinched, looking desperate for his brother to hush, yet it was obvious he was itching to say the same. Canis smiled, the empty smile that a skeleton wears. Alastair had taught him how to handle such a mouth. He wasn’t sure if Master would approve of him turning his tower boys into mincemeat, however.

He settled for crossing over to the other brother, and producing a rag from his back pocket. Without preamble he knelt behind the prince and shoved the rag between his teeth, silencing him. Gagged and confused, Samandriel huffed and attempted to look around, but Canis pressed his face down, strength overwhelming him.

“Un _hand_ him!” Castiel roared, straining against his manacles like a man possessed. This was one of Alastair’s favourite tactics. When torturing pairs, punish one for the other’s misbehaviour. If they had a pre-established relationship, the technique loosened tongues. If they had no relationship to one another, such a technique bred hostility.

“I would’ve been happy to, if you hadn’t gone and lost your temper,” Canis reasoned, chuckling at his blue-eyed anger. “Keep silent and still, and maybe I’ll let go of little brother. Or, if you’re good and tell me what I came here to know, perhaps I’ll release him, now won’t that be nice,” he taunted Castiel, watching with glee as the boy trembled with protective fury. 

“Fine,” Castiel released a shaky puff of air, trying to control himself. Canis felt Samandriel squirm beneath him, and he straddled the boy, looking at Castiel expectantly as Samandriel groaned from between his legs.

“Yes, we know the slave you speak of. He serves us here in the tower.”

Canis did not miss the shift of the boy underneath him. This slave obvious meant something to him, or he’d have the good sense to stay still.

“You’d never ask him to do anything...dangerous for you, would you?” He queried.

Castiel’s face was an expressionless mask. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“You’d never have him pass along messages to anyone, possibly ones that could easily be treacherous plans to overthrow His Highness, the King?” Canis pressed

“We’d never do such a thing,” Castiel returned coolly. Something about his demeanour and those fucking pretty pink lips had the guard-dog angry. Very angry.

      “ _Horse shit,_ ” Canis spat, and moved quickly. He alighted from Samandriel, rolled him over in his chains and punched the boy in the face. He took it well, to be fair to him. Castiel on the other hand, did not. The man roared, straining at his manacles and looking at Canis with the hatred of a warrior. Except, he wasn’t a warrior. He was a helpless prince.

“Calm yourself. You should see what I’d be doing if Master let me actually work on him,” Canis smirked, and couldn’t help but lewdly stroke down Samandriel’s thigh as he emphasised the word ‘work’. Samandriel looked up at him, fury filling his wide, wet eyes.

“Leave him alone,” Castiel demanded, straining.

“I will, sweetheart. I’ll do just that. So long as you tell me the truth...” Canis crooned, pushing Samandriel on to his front, and rubbing hands along his waist, tracing his hips. Pretty boy. Alastair would rip the skin from his hide in a second.

“We send notes. Little things - news from one another, assurances that we are fine. It’s no treason to your King, I swear it,” shouted Castiel in anguish. The sight of the King’s dog on his beloved little brother was enough for him to earn welts on his wrists from struggling.

“So you _do_ send notes,” Canis smiled, turning to address Castiel as he vomited up his confession. “You freely admit that you, and another slave of this castle have been exchanging messages under the nose of the King’s Guard, correct?”

Samandriel bucked under him, exerting more strength than he’d accredited the boy, and shouted at his brother. No words came out properly, because of the gag - but it was easy to understand the general essence. _Stop it, don’t do this._ The prince was actually begging.

He subdued the prisoner roughly, and Castiel’s head drooped on his shoulders. He had no choice, and any minute now, he’d break. Canis could still remember the first time he’d broken a man, and the moment was sweet enough to savour.

“Yes,” Castiel answered dully, and looked up to meet his eyes.

The words froze on the dogs tongue. The words he’d spoken countless times, the sentence he was built to give. _Castiel Milton, I hereby issue your formal arrest, and escort you to His Majestie's dungeons, where you will await trial for your crimes._ Trials took months or years to organise, but Crowley would just love a reason to drag a true Royal through the dirt. He’d be sent down to Alastair, or maybe Canis would be allowed to work on him, if he was good. Maybe he’d get to keep him...locked away in the dark, removed from all traces of light from his former life. Alone, and bound and ravaged, pain replacing all emotions in his heart except for grief. Tongue as dry as leather, throat parched from crying out for water. Changed into a creature made unrecognisable to all...no longer Castiel. But something new.

      The words never came. Canis never spoke them, for he knew what they would lead to, he’d lived through it himself. Never again would the prince look at him with the same intense gaze, never ask him questions or use that dry tone with him, he’d have learned to hold his tongue or have it cut out of his head.

He stepped back, freeing Samandriel and almost disgracing himself by falling over. He shook his head, and took a moment to compose himself. Something inside him was screaming, as it had started screaming many years ago and never stopped a moment since. For once, he would heed it’s warning. _If you send him down there, you won’t get him back._ For some stupid, unknown reason, Canis would not see that happen.

“I will return,” he stammered, and left the cell, slamming the door and stood there stocks-still while some random guard went to lock it behind him. The Captain, Ruby, threw off her helmet to glare at him, and pointed furiously towards the cell.

“You had those boys on the ropes, you were sup _posed_ to make an arrest. Why did you let them off the hook? Don’t think I won’t be telling the King about this,” she babbled at him, exasperated. Without a word Canis lifted Ruby, his fist round her throat, brought her back like a javelin and hurled her down the spiral staircase. There were screams and clanging sounds as her armour deflected the stone...and then the final smack. The Captain was dead.

Canis turned to the remainder of the guards.

“I’d like to say I’m sorry, boys...” He began, mock-apologetically smirking at the guardsmen, each one trembling before him. If he was to protect the princes, then he would need to eradicate any and all witnesses. They’d all heard Castiel’s confession. Which meant not one of them would be allowed to live.

 _Idiot_. He berated himself, as he crushed the skull of the first one in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had no pre-existing plan for this chapter, i let Canis and Castiel handle it for me. i apologise for ruby's death. i hope this was good and there will be more later. for anyone liking The Family Business (my other spn wip), i'm actually working on the new chapter right now. thank you for all the sweet comments.


	6. "I'd like that"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam returns to the Tower to find a horde of dead soldiers and two fearful princes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> filler chapter, short and badly written, leave me alone. self-indulgent adamandriel, i'm a worthless insomniac whose sending off her personal statement and avoiding voluntary work like the plague ayyy

Adam came up the steps the Tower, just in time to pass Canis on his way back down. Entire body freezing, the slave went rigid and bent at the waist, bowing to the King’s dog as he stalked by. Canes must have noticed him, but chose not to interact, because when Adam dared to raise his eyes Canis was already halfway across the courtyard, walking as if pursued by a formidable foe.

It was when Adam scurried through the doorway that he noticed Ruby’s twisted body at the foot of the steps. Calmly as he could, Adam stepped over her, and began to hurry up the stairs as quickly as his legs would go. Canes had been here, and as he ascended the stairs he began to notice the corpses of the remainder of Ruby’s team - three members of the King’s guard, at least, and if there were more they were probably elsewhere, just as dead as their petrified comrades.

Where Canis went, trouble followed. However, he was directly coming from the Prince’s room.

Adam raced to their door right away, hammering on the wood. He was met with a muffled cry and the dry voice of Castiel.

      “Adam, we’re in here,” the noise sounded, and Adam fumbled with the iron keys until he could force his way inside.

When he came in, Adam saw Samandriel on the ground, gagged and manacled. Castiel was also chained, but the bright red soon-to-be-bruise was on the blonde prince’s face, and not on his.

Anger burned in Adam’s belly, and he growled quietly as he bent to unlock the shackles, getting Samandriel first. The Prince allowed himself to be freed before his hands lifted, removing the gag and collapsing against Adam, exhaling properly and body shaking against him. Adam held the Royal tightly, and rested his chin on the top of his head.

      “It’s alright, I have you, don’t worry," he found himself whispering, even though he knew it was not alright at all, and there were many reasons to worry. The only living memory Adam held of his mother, was of her rocking him gently and uttering those same words. He’d never tasted the words in his mouth before, until now when they were most needed.

Picking the prince up and sitting him on his cot, Adam went to release Castiel from his bonds also. Castiel took a moment to rub his aching wrists, before thanking Adam and crossing to his brother. The two touched foreheads, and shared a look Adam didn’t recognise. He didn’t know either one of his brothers, he’d never had that kind of relationship, so he did not understand familial affections.

Castiel turned to Adam shortly, looking up at him with those eyes. Like Samandriel’s, but wider and deeper. Adam preferred his brother’s, but they were pretty enough. Like blue glass.

“What is going on outside, Adam? Did you see Canis leave the castle?”

Adam nodded, “He left as I was coming in. Is he the one who did this?” he gestured to Samandriel’s face, and then pointed outside to indicate the dead soldiers. The Princes winced in unison. Evidently a heavy door did not muffle the screams of dying men.

“Yes. He came in asking questions...and he tortured Samandriel so that I would give him answers.” Castiel said, speaking softly, as if doing so would make the events he spoke of any less real. “I gave them to him, but he did nothing. For a moment I thought he’d take me down to The Pit with Alistair, but he did not. He left, and minutes later we heard Ruby and the others die one by one.”

Adam shivered slightly, gooseflesh raising on his arms. “That makes no sense, Canis has killed entire bloodlines for less than that. You say you gave him the information he looked for?” he asked.

Castiel nodded grimly.

“Then that makes even less sense. Why would he let you off the hook?”

      “Unless…” Samandriel spoke for the first time, looking up fearfully between his brother and their slave. “Unless the dog expects something in return.”

Adam didn’t want to linger over that prospect for too long, so he instead stood up and went for the stash of spare fabric the brother’s kept. He soaked a piece of linen in water he found in a pail by the fire, and went back to Samandriel to bathe his wound. The Prince pouted before submitting, and Castiel stood to pace as Adam sat to nurse him.

“It’s entirely probable," Castiel mused, "but I can only assume this is false, and designed to make us trust him. What if he is to gain our confidence, only to betray us to the King?”

“I wouldn’t put it past the guy,” Adam muttered, tilting Samandriel’s chin up as he gently bathed the mark over his eye. “That’s the thing about dogs. They love to play games.”

Castiel sighed, warming up more water to clean the welts on his wrists from irons. The unspoken fact hung unclaimed in the air. Adam no longer considered Canis a long-lost brother, (it helped that he couldn't remember him as Dean) when that same brother had struck his prince.

“We can’t be sure. If we make one wrong move, he may tell his Master all he knows. How should we proceed?” Castiel pushed.

Adam gulped. He could only assume Cas had told Canis about the note passing, and that couldn’t possibly end well for him at all. This concerned him, too, and his mouth went dry searching for an answer.

“Honestly, Cas? I don’t know. I really don’t. Try and keep your heads down, and I’ll do much the same. I’ll see if I can finish chores early tomorrow and come back every few hours to see if you’re both alright.”

Samandriel lifted a hand to brush Adam’s, as it cleaned his eye. Adam felt fireworks under his skin at the touch usually, but today it was just a subtle reminder. A warm, gentle touch to let him know he was there.

“I’d like that. _We’d_ like that,” Samandriel quickly covered himself, blushing, but it had been said, and it was enough to make Adam smile.

“I’d like that too, angel-face.”

Adam had to leave in seconds, or so it felt, because he knew Charlie couldn't he expected to cover his chores forever. Except, it was alright, because even after Samandriel's hand had left this skin, it left an impression.  
He'd marry that boy one day.


	7. The Burned One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As per request, I present a Michael and Lucifer POV chapter. (Theangelhasfallen, I hope I don't disappoint ya) Shortly followed by a Canis POV chapter. Vague sex, mentions of a religious order I plan to elaborate on later.  
> Ayyyy what do you mean I'm meant to be writing a 1500 word essay ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments and suggestions, which I hope I followed correctly.  
> Please note that in this chapter I am introducing religion, at least to begin I am introducing the religion that Alistair and Crowley are faithful to. They are devoted to the worship of the Gods of Pain: The Burned, scorched by fire. The Frozen, killed by ice. The Drowned, dead by water, and The Breathless, suffocated by air. Alistair worships The Burned One, or Burned God. All of the above are correctly honoured by the practice of pain, be it on the worshipper or a test subject.

Michael

The winter sun was climbing the sky as Michael began the long trek outside Master’s chambers, to reach the bathhouse to collect fragrant steaming water, that he must bring back for the King’s washing. There are complications that come along with such an activity, when entirely naked and shackled by the ankles. The only covering the prince had was his collar, and the chains meant that he was forced to take slow, tiny steps, which added almost an hour to his journey.

It was worth it, though. A message was waiting for him.

 He reached said message when he came to the bath house, in the form of a well-built servant boy with honeyed hair. He wore no collar, but held a note in his clenched fist, and looked nervous.

      “Nice morning, isn’t it?” Michael said quietly, alerting the boy to his presence.

Startling, the young man practically left the ground at the sight of a very collared, very naked former Royal.

      “Y-yes, but clouds are never far away,” he responded after he had collected himself, assuring Michael he was the day’s courier by use of the secret code. The prince nodded curtly, and extended a hand for the paper.

Before the boy turned to leave, he grabbed him by the elbow.

“What is your name?”

“C-Corbett, Alan Corbett at your service your Maj-”

 Michael shushed the child with a hand to his mouth, head jerking round to search for listeners. In New Infernum there were always listeners. He waited a moment to release him, at which point the teenager was completely scarlet faced.

“ _Never_ call me that out loud. Think it, act in a way that betrays your loyalty, but only when we are alone. Do you understand me, Corbett?”

Corbett breathed in once given a chance, nodding and bumbling backwards. “Of course,” he stammered, and lowered his voice. “It was an honour to have met you. The snake still bears venom in Hell.”

Michael allowed himself a slow, and rarely-seen smile. “The snake still bears venom in Hell,” he repeated, returning the signal of a true Milton Royalist, before watching his supporter disappear elsewhere.

He could barely wait until he had ducked behind the safety of a willow tree, before feverishly reading the note.

It was from Castiel.

  He read it front to back without ever drawing breath, and by the time he was done he wished he no longer did. The message, as ever, was brief and succinct;

_Lie low, the King’s dog knows about our correspondence. No imminent danger so far, please don’t do anything stupid. Samandriel is bruised but fine, I am without ailment. A friend tells us that Anael is also unharmed._

_We love you._

_\- Castiel._

Michael paused, scouring the note for the last, vital part. He found it on the other side of the paper.

_PS:  Still no sign of Gabriel._

Michael’s heart had stopped sinking the first few hundred times he had read those words; the tired response to his frantic queries, cries of desperation from his allotment of their prison. Screams of _where is he?_ and _has he contacted you?_. The Prince's heart had sunk so low it no longer had space to drop.

He tucked the note under his collar, and continued his journey to the bathhouse.

 

Lucifer

      “Wake up, darling.”

Lucifer awoke to a fistful of his hair being yanked, tugging up his head painfully, to meet fetid breath and a bearded face. He snarled, unmoving.

“Good morning, Master,” he hissed, teeth so ground together he could taste splintered enamel like glass in his mouth. If he did not keep himself in check, it would mean bad things for his siblings. As if he hadn’t done enough damage.

“Morning, pet.” Crowley smiled, swinging his legs over the side of their bed to go to the nearby table, and look expectantly at the prince. Immediately, Lucifer stepped down from the bed they shared, and knelt at the foot of it; head bowed,

“Good boy,” his master conceded, before kicking him in his lower back, still tender from the previous night. Lucifer nodded grimly, crawling over to the table before his Master, and reaching up to pour him a glass of whatever he drank. Since he was not permitted to stand before his Master, he had no idea what drink he had been pouring for the last better part of a decade.

The bedroom door opened and closed. The chains rattling and tired breaths gave Michael away. Lucifer kept his head bowed dully, but longed to stare into his face.

     “Your water, Master,” his older brother said, and there was a slosh as the pail of soapy water was placed on the carpet near his head. Lucifer had been allowed to sleep longer than usual, it seemed. It was already time for Master to wash.

“Good,” the King acknowledged, and Lucifer readied himself for the sounds. He heard them every day. The noises of Crowley undressing, the dull twin thuds as his feet stepped into the porcelain tub by the fire, naked as sin and grinning like a devil. The padding sound of Michael walking over, the sluicing of the water into the bath. And then the repressed hisses and gasps as the King of New Infernum grabbed prince Michael by the hips and took him roughly from behind.

   Sometimes, when he knew the younger brother could hear, Crowley would let him look up.  “Just to let your neck stretch out,” He would smugly insist, but the princes both knew that he was being made to watch. Lucifer did not have the luxury of disobeying a direct order. He was not Royal any more.

 

Michael

 

      It took no longer today, the routine was rarely altered. Michael had learned to detach himself until Crowley was panting in his climax, spilling vile seed inside of him like a poison. The prince allowed himself to be manipulated this way and that, allowed his mouth to be covered and his arms wrenched back as he was entered and pounded, and just like that the King was finished. Throwing the boy away as if he were useless now, Crowley sank into the hot water, and Michael was allowed to move again.

As per the routine, Lucifer moved forward to help his brother, attempting to scoop him up beneath the elbows and take his weight, perhaps help him to the bed so he may recover. And, as he always did, Michael shook the traitor off with a look of disgust.

The first time it happened, Lucifer had looked as though his heart would break. They had been young, defiant, with eyes shining bright as stars. Now the stars had been shaken from their eyes, and Michael did not think his brother even knew why he helped him, yet he did it.

Sitting on the edge of the bed they both slept in, either side of Crowley, Michael caught his breath. And like every day, he considered not passing the note on to Lucifer. Spite pounded in his veins alongside his blood, and the snake truly did still bear venom in Hell.

Silently, he retrieved the note from his collar, and handed it to Lucifer. He got it back in a moment, longer than he would’ve liked. He was angry enough to hate his brother, but the guilt that would come from withholding the message would be stronger.

“Attend me,” Crowley demanded, and the boys stepped forward, ready to follow their orders.

 

Canis 

 

      The air was thick and warm down there, walls weeping the smell of brimstone. Steps twisted and spiralled deep into the bowels of the Castle, and they were built in a way that would break your ankle if you didn’t know them well enough. But, of course, Canis knew them very well.

On the twelfth step down he had to make a small jump to avoid a crack in the stone that sought to pierce his flesh. On the thirty-fifth he’d need to duck due to a low-hanging beam. His fingers trailed along the walls at his right side, tracing each divot of brick bleeding into brick. They were something Canis was growing to appreciate. Unlike most things the slave had encountered, these walls never changed.

The terrain abruptly flattened just after step four-hundred and nine. A brazier greeted him at the foot of the staircase, which if not evaded just right, would set his feet on fire. Alistair liked it hot, and so the climate suited him. As a matter of fact, it also suited Canis. He liked the way his skin was covered with a constant sheen, and cinders smudged under his eyes sometimes. When he caught a look of himself in long mirrors, the King’s dog liked what he saw. The green-eyed slave was befitting of his title. His collar finished the look perfectly.

The key concealed inside an inner compartment of his belt opened the door as it always did. He shut and bolted it once he was in, and the true humidity of the environment smacked him like a wave. He was thankful for his loincloth. Were he wearing anything heavier, the heat would be unbearable.

     “Canis,” a voice snapped, and the named slave prostrated himself, forehead just shy of scraping the ground. Thin hands scraped his scalp as Canis’ Master stroked through his hair.

“Report to me,” Alistair ordered sweetly, voice travelling slowly on the hot air. Canis’ mouth never failed to go dry when his Master crooned at him like that.

“Master, I visited the Princes Castiel and Samandriel,” Canis spoke into the dust at Alistair’s feet. When Alistair’s hand left his head he waited for the snap of fingers which told him he could stand. When he did, a breeze of joy flew through him, staring into a pair of cold eyes.

“Oh, you did?” Alistair spoke distractedly, returning to the work he’d been attending to while his dog had been away. He was sprinkling ash into the braziers, as offerings to his Gods of Pain, or more specifically the one to whom he was a devotee: The Burned One. There were few who kept up worship to the old and brutal pantheon, but Alistair was one of them, and a devout man at that. Canis prayed to the deities, giving his handler cause to praise. Though, as he admitted only to himself, their method or worship made him sick.

Canis took up his spot at Alistair’s side, holding the bowl of ash helpfully. He answered as he watched the flames lick and curl hungrily around their meal. The dust was gone in moments. “Yes, Master. They are both in good health and will be fine husbands for King Crowley’s boys as soon as they are selected, Master.”

 _The older one is bolder than His Highness would like_ , Canis thought. But for some reason he did not mention that.

“Excellent,” Alistair smiled, thin face stretching over bone. “Nothing else? Sweet boy, you bore me.”

The casual disappointment caused Canis to bow his head. _Disappointment, failure…_

“-But, there is something you can do,” he said suddenly, turning Canis’ stomach all a flutter.

“Yes, Master?”

“Keep an eye on the tower boys. One of the King’s bastard sons is coming of age near the end of the month, and he’s been very specific with who he wants. His Highness is considering marrying both Castiel and Samandriel off to the same man. One will be a ceremonial husband brought out for state affairs, a trophy prince. The other can be tied up in their chambers, and used as and when needed.”

A dismal future, but one Canis understood to be favourable to death. He bowed his head. “Yes, Master. Will that be all, Master?”

“No,” Alistair said shortly, taking the bowl from him to put it aside, and whistled low. Understanding the signal, Canis lay down on his back, giving himself pains on the hot ground, tipping his head to expose his neck, and opening his legs.

As Master took him, unassisted by oil and all rough touches, Canis daydreamed. And as Master climaxed, hot as brimstone inside of him, Canis found himself imagining a pair of blue eyes and a head of dark hair.


	8. "No, it wasn't."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canis pays a visit to Sam and Gabriel. We meet the mysterious 'Golden Man' who is Sam's spiritual caregiver. Who could he be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this song goes with the dream sequence pretty well.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PbSZhGONRBg

 The golden-eyed man ran his hands through Sam’s hair, tickling his scalp like the wind, as the boy relaxed with his head in his lap. Sam giggled, patting the hand away like some kitten, and stared up at a sunless sky. He much preferred the moon.

     It was a broad, lush landscape, crisp and cool, a frost biting at the air just the way Sam loved. Water trickled from a brook in the distance, a pond sat dark and stagnant nearby, an apple tree loomed protectively over his head. Lemon-balm bushes scraped his thighs, the ones that dad had used to grow outside their home a million years ago. He had dreamed up a paradise in the middle of Hell.

      “I have to wake up any minute,” Sam shared unhappily with the man, who didn’t seem too thrilled with the idea himself.

      “I don’t see why,” The golden-eyed man argued, kissing Sam’s forehead. Indulgent, Sam gazed up at him, into those eyes that were the colour of honeyed whiskey. Eyes fit to drown in.

“I mean it, I have chores. Gabriel needs feeding, I have to light a fire or we’ll freeze…”

“Five more minutes,” the man insisted, silencing the prisoner’s babble by lifting him up and tipping him back, until he was sprawled out in the grass with Sam lying across his stomach. Giggling, Sam let himself be manipulated until he was cuddled close, just as he had been before. He reached out a hand to play in the water of the pond, trapping a lilypad between finger and thumb. Somewhere above, a nightingale began to sing.

“Gods, I wish I could stay with you,” Sam murmured, more to himself than to his mysterious partner. He’d been seeing the golden man for years now, ever since his imprisonment, a couple days after meeting his dragon friend. He supposed the golden man was a dreamlike projection of what he needed the most. A caregiver.

“You’ll see me again, little one,” The golden man hushed him with another kiss, first on his lips and then on his clavicle, but no lower. Though sometimes his lust for the golden-eyed man made him convulse in his sleep, Sam’s desires had never been sated. The golden-eyed man would no sooner give more than kisses than he would tell him his true name.

“Tomorrow night can’t come soon enough,” Sam murmured, nuzzling into the warmth of the man’s collarbone, where his tawny hair curled and kinked. The man’s sigh resounded through his chest like a bell.

“Maybe a little sooner than that.”

Sam parted his lips to ask what he meant, and suddenly his mouth was filled with ice.

     “ _Wake up._ ”

     Sam spluttered, spitting out the cold water and sitting bolt upright. A stranger loomed ahead - the dick who’d poured a bucket of water over him - face obscured infuriatingly by the dark, and across the room Gabriel was making the brick walls buckle with how far he was tugging the end of his chain, snarling from somewhere deep in his throat.

“Get that creature under control,” the stranger rasped, and Sam staggered to his feet to go and calm the dragon.

     “Hey, hey, easy now,” he hushed, running his hands along the beast’s muzzle, smoothing his golden scales. “It’s alright, we’re alright. Did you have a bad dream?”

     Gabriel jerked his head toward the intruder. _I woke up and the bastard was looming over you. Can’t help it, I got protective._

Sam didn’t blame him, he was shaking and it wasn’t because of the cold water.

“What do you want?” he stammered to the stranger, careful not to step too far out of Gabriel’s radius of motion.

The figure stepped into the light, caused by the small fire Gabriel had created to frighten him. In the haziness of vision, Sam recognised the King of Hell’s crest, accompanied by a sprinting hare. A messenger.

“I bring news from the King’s dog, whom I understand once had connections with you, _Winchester,_ ” the messenger sneered. Sam was beginning to recognise his voice. James Frampton, a snivelling man so easily drunk on the power Crowley’s jurisdiction gave him. Prick.

 _Give Sam your message before my fire has a connection with that mug of yours,_ Gabriel hissed, his words echoing through both James and Sam’s mind. In the light that poured around the small fireball he spat out with the words, Sam could swear James’ face went white.

“Canis seeks audience with you, I was sent here to have you restrained.”

“Audience? with me?” Sam quizzed, too shaken from the news that he didn’t consider how in just a moment he’d be chained down too tightly to scratch his own nose. His hopes ascended before he could weigh them down with logic. _Dean was coming._ _Dean._

“D-did he mention why?”

“I don’t ask questions. Nor do you,” replied James, and he held out a pair of manacles, swinging in the breezeless dungeon. “D’you know the drill by now or do I need to re-educate you?”

“Fuck yourself, Frampton,” Sam responded, snatching the restraints in midair, before turning his back and holding both wrists together behind him. Messengers were snarky, but easily dealt with. They weren’t permitted to carry weapons.

     The middle Winchester held his breath as he felt the iron clunk around his thrumming pulse, and felt James push him to his knees, let himself sink as his ankles were bolted together. Gabriel, always nearby, nuzzled his nose into the prisoner’s cheek, heat drying his silent tears that he didn’t seem to have noticed.

Sam smiled, kissing the dragon on the snout. “S’ok, Gabriel. I’ll be fine.”

He assumed he was finished once James had rendered him incapable of movement, but within seconds Sam felt material between his teeth.

He turned back with a resentful grunt, only to catch a hum of smug satisfaction.

“Sorry, Winchester. Canis made special requests that you be gagged for this meeting. Guess he has something important to say.”

 _What kinda asshole asks that his own brother be silenced for their first meeting in years?_ Thundered Gabriel, but Sam’s expression stopped his grumbles. Sam pressed his face into the curve of Gabriel’s nose, felt a leathery-silk wing come to rest on his shoulder. An attempt at an embrace.

He hadn’t seen his older brother since Crowley’s coronation, where they’d brought him out in a loincloth and collar, and had him service the King in front of all. Sam had been chained with Adam and the rest of the Milton siblings, and they’d watched every second.

Adam had cried in his lap for the whole ordeal. It made Sam wish he, too, was smaller, with an older brother’s arms to crawl into when the world proved too hard. He’d had that once; the privilege of being young and delicate. Not any more.

  _You’re torturing yourself, little one,_ Gabriel whispered.

 _I know_ , Sam thought back.

 

     James did not exactly make himself scarce. He took his time, shortening Gabriel’s chain and making sure Sam could neither move nor make a sound. He pushed the boy down to the ground on his side, powerless, and finally left to inform Canis (Canis!) that Sam was ready.

Canis stepped in a moment later.

Sam choked, and it wasn't on his gag. He was _here_ , he was tall, stubble shaded his chin and jaw, his yellow hair was cropped short, practically shaved. His freckles were faded, his irises dulled. Gods, this was Dean Winchester, son of the great rebel. 

Then Canis looked him in the eye and Sam couldn’t hold back his sobs.

Canis did not react to the outburst, nor to the colossal dragon attempting to break the chain that wrapped around his neck, to get to the boy that was weeping. He merely stood there, and stared. As if this display of emotional brokenness was as foreign to him as Summer snow.

Sam wept, and Sam waited. Canis said nothing. Gabriel said nothing. Sam also said nothing.

Ten minutes passed.

Twenty minutes passed.

Sam forewent furtive glances after the first moment of Canis’ visit, and his eyes never left the King’s dog. This was convenient, as the King’s Dog’s eyes never left him. So he stood with the posture best befitting of a guard dog, a mere few inches shy of Sam’s bound form, and the two looked at each other. As if attempting to solve a riddle neither one remembered the words of, let alone the answer.

Thirty minutes passed.

Forty.

Fifty.

Fifty-five.

     “You’re Samuel Winchester,” spoke Canis, in the voice Sam was so desperate to remember but didn’t quite, but he clutched at the echo of a ghost of a memory. He nodded frantically, giving himself a headache with the motion.

“ _Mmmm!_ ” he mumbled, making no sense and wishing that he could, his tongue grappling with the gag that kept him quiet. _Yes, I’m Samuel Winchester, yes, Dean, that’s me. Me, your brother._

Canis left.

Sam cried as James returned to untie him, and received a dragon-bite on the wrist for his trouble once he had lengthened Gabriel’s chain. Sam cried as they re-locked the door, Sam cried as the sun rose and set, Sam cried as Gabriel rocked him back and forth as his body buckled, convulsed and shattered under the all-encompassing weight of his grief.

“That was Dean, Gabriel,” Sam moaned as the dragon settled down for the night, tucking Sam into the warmest recesses of his wing.

 _No it wasn’t,_  Gabriel murmured gently, before Sam fell into a chasm of empty oblivion.


	9. Starshine and Moonflowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canis intercepts the Royal Family (and co.)'s private correspondence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support, updates are speeding up because I only recently discovered where this story is actually going.

_Adam,_

_Canis came to see me yesterday. Asked my name and left. I have no idea what his angle is, avoid him if you can._

_Keep up with your lessons, your mind is a weapon that needs to stay sharp. I’ve sent you a story Gabriel helped me write, I want you to read it and send me the plot, so that I know your reading hasn’t slipped. No asking Samandriel for help, this time._

_I love you,_

_Sam._

 

_Sam,_

_Did Dean look any different? Did he hurt you?_

_The story you sent is about a mage locked in a dungeon, with a beast for a companion. The mage grows in his craft, until he becomes strong enough to transform the beast into a handsome prince, and they fight their way to freedom together._

_Did I do good? Love you,_

_Adam._

 

_Adam,_

_He is no longer Dean, if that’s what you’re asking. And no, he did not touch me._

_And yes, Gabriel says you read the story perfectly. He can’t stop chuckling for some reason._

_I love you,_

_Sam._

 

_Samandriel,_

_Sam told me that Canis visited him in the dungeon yesterday, just identified him and left. I’m sorry for not visiting, for now they’ve got us all working night and day for a feast to accompany the upcoming ball for the prince and princesses’ coming of age. I’ll have Portia bring you your meals._

_Take care, angel-face._

_Adam._

 

_My Adam,_

_Please look after Anael, the princess tries her patience, we’re almost certain Crowley has his eyes on her as Meg’s birthday present._

_They tell me it's Springtime. Moonflowers should be in bloom by now, they were mother's favourites. Are they beautiful? are they being taken care of?_

_Be careful,_

_Samandriel._

 

_Anael,_

_Adam tells us that Canis paid a visit to Sam Winchester in the dungeons. Why would he do something like that? He’s making us all uneasy._

_Don’t anger the prince or princess._

_We love you,_

_Castiel._

 

_Castiel and Samandriel,_

_I have no clue as to his motives, he avoids everyone and sleeps in the bowels of the castle with Alistair._

_I will anger whom I choose._

_I love you both,_

_Princess Anael._

 

_Michael,_

_Canis visited the dungeons to see Sam Winchester. What do you make of this? Stop being cruel to Lucifer, it’s time you forgave._

_I love you both,_

_Princess Anael._

 

_Anael,_

_I make nothing of Canis’ random whims, and I will never forgive Lucifer._

_I love you,_

_Michael._

 

Canis put down the note, the final in the saga he had absorbed over the course of the last two weeks; watching the aftereffects of his visit disturb the stagnant waters of Crowley’s stronghold. He eyed the messenger, the red-haired girl built like a greyhound - Charlotte Bradbury if he remembered right. He’d had her forward the Royal’s letters to him before they reached their intended recipients, and if the King knew about this then there would be no need for spies. He'd had her meet with him in the gardens at the back of the castle grounds, too far for the tower princes to be able to overlook.

“A-are you going to kill me?” the girl whimpered, trying to keep her eyes on the King’s Dog, when he least of all times wanted to be watched.

“No,” Canis responded, passing her Michael’s note. It was late, he should be getting back to Master before He grew impatient. He'd barely recovered from his last wrongdoing.

"Keep me informed, and with any luck you'll never get to find out what The Pit looks like. Tell the Royals, and I'll flay you."

Canis watched the girl scramble away through the trees, before turning his back, and lowering his hood. Quiet as a breeze and smooth as a shadow, he ambled back through the gardens bathed in starshine, down to the Pit where he belonged.


	10. Novak Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canis suffers a brief flash back to when he was Dean Winchester, and Castiel is prepared for an afternoon with Crowley's eldest son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more to come, didn't want the chapter to be too long. heavily inspired by captive prince tbh. this chapter is fairly nsfw, and there is heavy noncon touching. also mentions of torture in canis' past so please proceed with caution.

It was the middle of the night - or at least it felt like it - when Samandriel and Castiel’s chamber door was hammered on, waking the older prince but not the younger. Had Canis had his way, he’d have avoided the tower princes entirely, but his choices were not his own. The King had an errand for his dog to run.

     “Yes?” came Castiel’s sigh, then the creaking of the bed as he inevitably sat up , rubbing Samandriel’s back to keep him in the blurry haze that was preferable to life (Canis could only assume). The younger one was probably dreaming of Adam. Canis could just see the older prince from behind the door, lips sleep-swollen and eyes blurred azure, waiting to hear who their visitor was. For some reason, the knowledge that the prince wouldn’t be happy to see him, tasted bitter in his mouth.

     “Blue-eyes,” Canis said by way of greeting, the door remaining a barrier.

He could hear Castiel’s breathing.

     “Both myself and my brother's eyes are blue. You will have to be more specific.”

Again with the sharp tongue. He could only help Castiel did not allow himself to speak so impersonally with those with the means to punish him.

“Very clever. Get on your knees.”

There was a shuffle as Castiel transitioned to the floor, but the sounds of his brother weren’t present. The latch was easy to push up, and soon Canis was in.

      The cramped room smelled of wild herbs and sleep. Castiel was knelt on the floor at his feet, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed. Samandriel was still asleep, curled up in a C shape in the cot. After neglecting to shut the door, Canis advanced to shake him into the world of the living.

“No, don’t wake him. It was me you asked for.”

“You’re demanding for a prisoner.”

“And you’re presumptuous for a dog.”

There wasn’t much that could be said about that.

“Aren’t you going to chain me?” Castiel asked. Tentative persistence.

“Are you going to run?”

“Probably.”

Canis was prepared for that response, and as opposed to voicing his own, he moved to the bed and sat on the edge, causing the wood to creak, and Samandriel to stir. Castiel’s eyes did not move from him.

“Then leave,” Canis said.

     Both of them looked to the open door, the light creeping through the splintered, rotted wood. The fact that it was even there was ornamental, the lock could be broken but the tower entrance at the foot of the stairs was never left unguarded. Castiel’s eyes were saying that, but too clever to speak before his mind had seen the end of the road to which Canis’ proposal had pushed him. If the guards heard footsteps, they’d assume Canis wished to leave, and open the door wide open with bowed heads. He could _leave_.

But Canis was sitting in front of Samandriel, stopping the younger prince from escaping with his senior.

And Castiel would not leave without him.

“Did you come here to taunt me," Castiel began, eyes glancing up as he concluded his sentence. " _...Dean?_ ”

 

_“Stop it.”_

_“You know how to make this stop.”_

_“Please.”_

_Alistair pressed the needle into the soft space between Dean’s thigh and his hipbone. It made an awful sound as it went in._

_“No. No more.”_

_“What is your name, Canis?”_

_Dean turned his head as far away as the collar would allow. His tears had stopped hours ago, it was too hot. He knew how to make this stop._

_I’m sorry, father. I’m sorry, ma._

_The needle’s point scraped bone and Dean’s body convulsed with the wrongness of it. Alistair was grinning, a nightmare come to life._

_“What is your name, Canis?”_

_I’m sorry, Adam._

_“Please, m-Master, don’t-”_

_“What is your name?”_

_Sorry, Sammy._

_“Canis! My name is Canis.”_

 

     Canis blinked. That hadn’t happened in a while. It wasn’t often thoughts of Master didn’t fill him with the heat he’d grown to love. Only now it hurt. Almost as it used to, before he had been himself.

“My name is Canis. Use it,” His threat was heavy in the air.

Castiel did not respond.

“I came here to inform you that Prince Brady will be accompanying you on a walk around his father’s gardens at noon.”

Castiel responded.

“They are not his father’s gardens, and I will not be accompanying him.”

It was simple, really. To slip the knife under the sleeper’s throat, and the look on Castiel’s face was predictable. Then again, everyone was predictable.

“You will be accompanying Prince Brady.”

“I will be accompanying Prince Brady,” Castiel echoed. Hollow.

     A moment passed without either of them speaking, and the only noises that filled the space between them were Samandriel’s soft sounds. Every now and then he shifted, and prince and slave held their breath lest he awake. He did not. Castiel had not moved from his position since Canis had come in; hands behind him, wrists together, head bowed and cast in shadow. Discomfort was his norm.

It was he who broke the silence.

“If you’re here to hurt me, then get it over with.”

He was baiting him, yet Canis stayed.

“I can hurt anyone.”

“Then leave me, and torment somebody else.”

“You’re not a princeling anymore, did the chains not make that clear? You can’t order me about.”

“Then stay.”

“You want me to stay," It was a question that tasted of admission.

Castiel looked at him. He looked older than he was. Old and tired, and full of pain.

“Prince Brady has decided to court me, and I am powerless to do anything but comply. You could throw me from the window and I would thank you for it.”

     Canis left the prince’s room when light was beginning to show through the windows, and the cracks in the thinnest of bricks that made up the tower wall. The prince did not go back to sleep.

 

     Claire was the one to collect Castiel a few hours after Canis had left, to prepare the prince for the walk. A distant cousin, she was loosely connected to the Milton bloodline, and had served as a handmaiden for Anael as a child. The dilution of snake venom in her blood had not saved her. She was now a kitchen girl.

     “Claire Novak, is that you?” asked Samandriel when she came in, both the boys having been attempting rest, legs draped over one another, as she had decided against knocking. He was smiling fit to split his face. “You’ve grown up, little one.”

     “You haven’t,” smiled she, going to embrace the two, individually then both together. She smelled of cooking oil and fear, but her eyes were Novak sky.

“I’m here to get you washed and dressed, Castiel. Bastard Brady wants you at noon,” she said, using the King’s son’s nickname with soft caution. Samandriel’s look toward his brother was one of empathy. Cas had caught him up on the situation the moment his eyes opened.

     The older prince sighed, sitting up, stretching his tired body. There was no possibility of refusing, if he did then Claire would be the one punished. He suspected she had been chosen to fetch him for just that reason. Family did not end with blood.

“How long do I have?”

“About four minutes. The bathhouse is expecting you.”

Even though the circumstances were less than favourable, Cas couldn’t help but feel excited. He hadn’t used the Royal bathhouses in years, but he still found himself visiting them in dreams. If Brady did select him for a husband, then at least he would have comfort.

“Any news?” Samandriel asked, his sleep-warmed voice directed at their cousin. Her lips curved as she reached into a hidden recess of her apron, bringing out a parcel wrapped in paper, handing it to Samandriel. He unfolded the paper, revealing a pressed plant, worse for wear from it’s journey to his hands.

“Adam slipped it to me during serving duty,” she informed him, head cocked in the familial way. “What is it?”

“It’s a moonflower,” Samandriel said, and smiled. “Mother’s favourite.”

 

The interior of the bathhouse was even better than Castiel remembered, his memory a little battered from constant visitation. The walls and floors were marble, swirling jade and tuscan sun. The baths were built from indented rectangles every few square metres, and when one reclined in the water, a ceiling mural could be enjoyed. Only, the mural used to depict the Milton’s crest; a snake battling their age-old enemies, represented by their respective sigils. The ravens of Leviathan, the saber-tooth tigers of Roman, the wily foxes of the Masters clan, even the hulking creatures of the Wendigo. Now, all the evidence of a once-great family had been swatted away under paint, and replaced with meaningless damask in Crowley’s colours. Predictable red and black.

Eve, a follower of Lucifer who had become a turncoat to Crowley greeted him when he arrived. Touching his hand gently, Claire had made her unhappy leave. Castiel couldn’t blame her. She likely had work to do.

     “Castiel, how lovely to see you again,” smiled Eve, merlot lips pulling back over sharp yellowed teeth.

     “The feeling is mutual,” nodded Castiel icily, referring to the unspoken emotion the two felt, as opposed to the false one she proclaimed. Hatred.

Even though he was currently enjoying a luxury reserved for recognised royalty, Castiel was helpfully reminded of his status. Eve had no qualms about crossing the floor and relieving him of his shirt by tearing it from his body, cold eyes _inviting_ him to try and fight. He did not.

An unseen someone had come up behind him to tug down his trousers with merciless hands, and Castiel awkwardly maneuvered himself so that they could be disposed of. He was not wearing shoes.

     “You truly have grown up,” hummed the threat from behind him, and Castiel recognised the voice. Asta, or Astaroth, had courted Lucifer in her own way, when Castiel was too young to understand much of anything. Lucifer had not treated her well, or else she would likely not be serving his enemies now. Despite the circumstances, Castiel took pleasure in the fact that a woman who had once rubbed elbows with true royalty, was now condemned to serving as a bathhouse attendant.

     “So I keep hearing,” he said grimly, watching Eve cross to a nearby bath, and picking up a pair of shackles undoubtedly meant for him. Against his better judgement, the prince began to panic.

“That isn’t necessary. I won’t run.”

“That’s what they all say,” smiled Asta, as Eve crossed back to him to grip his wrists with soft hands. He swallowed.

Once the cuffs had clicked together, Asta shoved Castiel forward towards the pool of water, Eve already waiting for him there. When he stood where they were indicating, his wrists were yanked up high, fixed above his head to render him helpless. Well, more hopeless than he had been before.

     They were unabashed and thorough, moving his body this way and that, rubbing him with fragrant oils, their smells cloyingly sweet. Castiel tried not to give any signs of humiliation or discomfort during their ministrations, but some could not be helped. When a hand pushed between his legs he startled, closing them as best he could and hissing involuntarily. Eve grinned, getting the satisfaction she’d been waiting for, and Asta wrenched his hair back in a fist.

“Keep still, pretty one,” Eve crooned, returning to her work and massaging him, her hand slippery with soap. Not used to this fondling Castiel flinched, and opened his mouth to shout, but Asta’s hand covered it, stifling his protests and causing further aggravation.

“What a sweet little gift you’ll make for the prince…” observed Eve, causing Castiel’s back to arch with every touch, her arm pumping in rhythm. “He hardly ever takes a bed slave, much less a partner. You’re rather special, you see.”

 _What an honour,_ thought Cas, ineffectually trying to buck the woman off. She was not deterred, wandering hands slipping back where they did not belong. A probing finger brushed his entrance for a second, and his teeth clenched together tight.

“Lovely virgin,” Eve giggled, thankfully ignoring _that_ place and returning to his stiffening cock. “I wouldn’t want to take you, though we have apparatus used for slaves that require discipline. It would be easy to fuck you right here...but it would be a crime to take a present so obviously meant for his highness.”

Castiel released all the air in his lungs when her hands left him to reach for more oils. They sluiced him down, worked soap into his hair, and briefly left to retrieve fresh towels and new clothes. He was allowed a while to weep.

     When Asta and Eve returned, Castiel’s arms were released from where they were fixed, the shackles coming off with loud clunks. He was not permitted to dry himself, but stood limp as the two women did so, after which came aromatic creams and oils. Castiel sat on a bench to the side, staring dully forward as a concoction of spiced ginger and juniper was rubbed into his scalp, honey and rose water doused over his bare chest, perfume dabbed at his pulse points.

     Next came clothes. A silk tunic the shade of ash, dark trousers and pale sandals. A third tormenter was enlisted (a bed slave referred to as Lola) to smudge kohl under Castiel’s eyes, dab a little pink in the centre of his lips. By the time they were finished, he didn’t want to know what he looked like.

     “You look like a whore,” purred Eve.


	11. "Hope"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel dines in the Mcleod estate's court gardens with Prince Brady, accompanied by an unexpected guest. Hope for the rebellion grows, and a new side of Canis is beginning to emerge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a fun chapter to write. mentions of food, be careful if you have an ED. totally stole the last line from rogue one lol ((edited to add more description))

Castiel was escorted out of the bathhouse by a small army of servants, and it was a familiar sensation to feel their added weight to his steps, the sounds of their breathing in his ear. As a little boy he’d followed his mother’s procession when visiting court, so that his parent’s subjects could ooh and ahh at the smallest princes, particularly his baby brother. There had been a double to ensure he wasn’t assassinated (his name was James and he walked a couple of paces ahead), four or five maids to keep him fed and quiet with candied fruit and bits of sugared pastry.

      Now their company was different. Gone were the days of gentle powdered handmaidens and wet nurses who hummed lullabies. The servants Crowley had chosen to accompany Castiel were brutes; women and men built of steel with yellowed teeth and iron collars. They formed a V behind and to his sides, fencing him in as he was herded towards the gardens. His hands were fixed behind his back with soft thick rope, though his ankles were free. This was presumably to show his binding was ceremonial. If Castiel decided to run, he’d be chased down like an animal.

Besides the less than favourable circumstance of this outing, the scenery was incredible. Not as he remembered, of course. At Crowley's command new trees had been planted around the borders of the estate, heavy and sagging under the burden of fruit, all poisonous. Mercifully the hedges were well cared for, and creaking with multicoloured flora; lemon balm, verbena and passion flower. The fountain water made the same peaceful sounds he remembered, the pond bereft of water lilies, and the statue in the centre was not the Milton snake, but a likeness of Crowley himself. Unpleasant, but possible to ignore.

     “Castiel,” a voice pierced him and he stopped, causing the woman at his back to stop short, so as to avoid direct collision. He had only been out in the open for a couple of minutes, but Castiel gathered they were under orders not to mark his skin.

The speaker was his intended, prince Brady. His hair shone flaxen in the sun, his grin was objectively pleasant. The effect of his bulbous nose _just_ stopped his features from combining to replicate beauty. The female Crowley had collaborated with to birth him must have been part pig. Castiel did not speak, and since his entourage could not hurt him, he was not forced to. The McLeod prince simpered, crossing the ground to look up at Castiel, who was at least a head taller. It did nothing to ease the thrumming of his heart, which he felt in his neck and perfumed wrists.

“I haven’t seen you in so long, not since the coronation,” Brady said.

     “There is a reason for that,” Castiel returned, speaking for the first time in hours. His tongue did not wish to comply.

"You are a beauty..." Brady's words trailed off, and his eyes completed his sentence perfectly. _You look good enough to eat._

A hand brushed his back, too hot and too dry, and Castiel shuddered in memory of his humiliation at the bathhouse. It was not necessary for skin to break for an impression to be made. He had assumed the person from behind touching his back had been the woman who had almost bumped into him earlier, but before long another voice joined the three, sweet as butter.

     “Your Highness,” Canis said, walking into Castiel’s line of sight, the others in his company moving apart to let him through. _He_ had been the gentle touch.

“You’re late, dog. I don’t like it when you’re late,” Brady acknowledged, inspecting a spec of dust lodged beneath a rounded fingernail. “You know I only wanted you here to insure my fiance doesn’t run. None of my father’s company is as...convincing as you.”

So that was why Canis had arrived. He was to intimidate the blue-eyed prince until any resolve to escape had dissipated. Given their recent conversation, Castiel was a little less afraid than he would otherwise be.

“Yes, your Highness,” replied Canis, and when he looked down Castiel could see the ring of greyish bruising under one of his green eyes.

“Well, then. I don’t suppose you’re hungry?”

Castiel took a moment to realise the question was for him, but he was awfully busy trying not to stare at Canis. Or, rather at Dean.

“Of course I’m hungry. You-” _locked me and my brother up for thirteen years during which we survived on dry bread and beer, you good-for-nothing prick._

Castiel cleared his throat, “...Yes, quite.”

Brady’s eyes danced. Cruelty was their flame. “Well, then. There is an extensive array of food I’ve had prepared in the gardens. Lilith, untie my beloved.”

Lilith - who had, as it would seem, been the demon standing behind Castiel - tugged a loose end of the rope. Automatically his body tried to leave his hands where they were, clasped like a slave. He fought to hold them by his sides. Brady extended his right arm, clearly intending for Castiel to take, as one might do when being courted by a prince. “Won’t you accompany me?”

Castiel tried, truly he did, but his limbs were not working as they ought to. Brady’s head made a strange movement, not quite the cocking motion of a confused canine, but more akin to the snap of bone. “Take my arm, Castiel.”

He swayed the few steps forward, and wound his arm into the crook of Brady’s elbow. The skin was damp.

“Very good,” smiled Crowley’s son, who snapped his fingers. The V of Castiel’s little militia became an extended semicircle around the couple, with Brady on his left and Canis lurking, so he was flanked no matter where he deigned to turn. The day was unnaturally hot for the season, and he felt faint.

“ _Don’t trip,_ ” whispered a voice from his right hand side.

 

     Castiel was lead out to the dining area in one of the greenhouses, where the air was tinted green from it's glass roof. Far away the ocean gleamed, and the sun beat down without mercy. Beneath the roof was a long table. The array of food that had been prepared was, indeed, extensive. Little roasted partridges were dotted along the table, one per chair though there were only two diners. Soft white rolls and broiled fish, fried onions on a sparrow pie, a marinated duck sticky with orange syrup, a steamed blackberry pudding that seemed inappropriate given the temperature. Despite this, once he was permitted to sit down at Brady's side, Castiel filled up his plate.

Brady watched him with an air of disapproval. “You eat like a peasant.”

Castiel wanted to spit his mouthful into Brady’s moon-pale face, but loathed to waste good food. He swallowed, and licked his lips of meat juices. “Do I offend you, your Highness?”

Brady rolled his eyes. “God, they really haven’t let you out for all these years, have they? You don’t even know my proper title. To commoners, I’m _Your Highness_ . To you, I am _My Prince_.”

Castiel shoved a forkful of apple cake into his mouth horizontally, his stomach too rounded for him to be angry. “Yes, _my prince_. Anything you say.”

     Brady ignored him for a while, occupying himself by peeling a hard boiled egg with his long fingers, legs extended and feet crossed at the ankles on the table. Castiel ate like a starving man, devouring four plates. When he was stuffed there was still a table full. More than he’d be given in a year.

“I-I cannot eat any more,” he found himself saying helplessly, like a child who had fallen short of an important mission.

Brady sneered. “Well, at least I won’t be plagued any longer by the sounds of your chewing. The pigs can eat the rest.”

Castiel went rigid. Such delicacies had not passed his lips in over a decade, yet they were routinely given to the swine.

     “Highness,” came that voice once more. Canis was at Castiel’s side. Again, on his left.

“What is the reason for this interruption?” demanded Brady, as though he and Castiel had been exchanging wedding vows.

“I am here to dispose of the scraps from your meal.”

 _Scraps._ There was enough here to feed a village.

“There are staff to do such work.”

“Pardon, Highness, they are ill from the heat.”

Castiel was not certain of much, but one thing he could be sure about, was that the heat - while bordering on intolerable - was not _that_ bad. 

Brady looked around for evidence. True to the dog’s words, not a servant could be seen save for the soldiers that were their escort and their guards. He sighed, as though this matter was of personal inconvenience to him. “Don’t be gone for more than a minute. I mean it, dog, I want to see you sprint.”

Something in Castiel made him look away as Canis departed, taking the remainder of the meal with him - it was miraculous how much food he could carry at once. He did not want to see the King’s dog run a common errand.

“Canis makes a rather charming kitchen girl, don’t you think?”

When Castiel looked over, prince Brady was showing his teeth.

“Let me take food back to my brother,” he heard someone say. It surely couldn’t be him, but there was no one else around.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

 _You heard me._ “I said that I should like to take food back to my brother in the tower. And to my sister, wherever she is kept. My oldest siblings share a bed with your father, so I have no doubt they rest with full bellies.” On second thoughts, that couldn’t be Castiel talking. It sounded far too brave.

Prince Brady chuckled, bracing a foot against a pillar on his side, watching Castiel closely. As if there wasn’t an infantry of soldiers to catch him if he tried to run. “You try my patience, dear one. You really, truly do.”

“With the highest respect, my prince, you do not know me at all.”

“Ah, but I should like to know you. I should like to very much.”

“I would be more inclined to allow you to know me if those closest to me were not starving.”

A goblet went flying from the table, smacking against the pillar and soaking a rosebush. Castiel’s hair was gripped in a fist, pushed back to bear his throat. “ _Insolent bitch_. Let me make your situation clear, if thirteen years in a tower didn’t already do that for you. I am the prince of Elysium, not your dead father or infantile brothers, nor that rotting mother or whore sister of yours. Me. I shall rise to the throne in due time, and your only use at my side is to attract those who are loyal to your filthy bloodline. Do you understand?”

_There are those loyal to the Miltons? Even after all this time?_

Castiel swallowed noisily, and nodded as best he could. His eyes did not leave his betrothed. “I understand, my prince.”

Brady released his hair, causing his neck to snap back painfully. Castiel remained where he sat, doing his best to breathe.

“Food won’t pass your lips until I see you again, my sweet,” Brady decided. “That might encourage you to see me for what I am: your saviour. I doubt those siblings of yours will need to eat until you decide to behave. Lilith, tie him and take him away.”

 

     Castiel had never been so relieved to feel his hands locked behind him. Nor had he ever relished the sensation of being moved, prodded and manipulated until his legs were carrying him across the court gardens, and away from the prince of Elysium.

They reached the tower before long, and Lilith was hammering on the little door. Adam answered it, naked save for a smile. Castiel couldn’t help but feel warm at the thought of his brother being cared for in his absence. Especially if their company was a pleasurable distraction.

Adam was taking him by the elbow and steering him inside. The slave nodded with familiarity at the soldier. “Thanks, Lil. I’ll take it from here.”

Lilith looked like she was trying to smile. Or perhaps she always smiled that unnoticeably. “Stay out of trouble.”

“I do what I can.”

Their small exchange was over, and the door clunked shut and bolted behind them. Samandriel came over from the bed, wearing only his breeches and anxious as a dove. Castiel’s vision was a little blurred, but he’d know those brandeis eyes anywhere.

     “Cas, what have they done to you?” his brother was saying softly, standing behind him once his guards had left, working at the soft bindings that held him still in place.

“Nothing terrible,” Castiel replied, feeling Adam take over the job of freeing him. The prince was free in seconds, and Samandriel was in his arms.

“You look like royalty,” Adam commented, eyeing up his love’s older brother with something akin to confusion. Castiel could have giggled when he realised that the slave had only ever seen him in rags. It must be a shock to see him dressed like a rich man's pet.

“Once we both did,” he replied, rubbing circles into Samandriel’s hot spine. The little prince pulled back a moment, on tiptoe so they were closer.

“Do you want to tell me about what happened?”

“Word will reach the slaves soon enough. Adam can tell you most of it, and I will fill in any empty spaces the gossip neglected to mention. Until then, I want to forget.”

Samandriel's little nose was wrinkling. "Cassie, you smell of pork tongue."

There was a thunk at the door, followed by prompt steps leading away. Adam, again was the one to open the door, not apparently having a problem with being utterly unclothed.

“What is it?” Castiel asked, still in the arms of his brother. 

Adam was kicking the door shut behind him, holding a huge open crate, inside of which was all the food from Brady’s table. All of it, the meats, cheeses and desserts, carelessly wrapped in paper, which did little to disguise the attractive aroma filling the room. Adam’s eyes were wide with wonder, and his tongue stumbled over the word.

“Hope.”


	12. The Moon on a String

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A retelling of the events which took place during Castiel's unsuccessful afternoon in the company of Prince Brady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sex. this is a sexy chapter. if there are inaccuracies it's bc i don't own a penis. thank you v much for the kind words ur all babes

Samandriel was codependent, always had been. The moment Castiel was escorted down to the bathhouse, he found himself in the arms of his slave.

     “Did you get my moonflower?” Adam asked him between kisses. The doors were guarded today, stricter than usual given that one out of two prisoners was absent, leaving the other liable to escape. So, he had been obliged to scale the wall. His hands were scraped to the bone but he was grinning like an idiot.

     “Of course I did,” smiled Samandriel, feeling skinny fingers work their way under the waistband of his trousers, wanting to tug them down. He batted wandering hands away, and was met with a look of reproach.

“Do you mind?” he giggled, letting himself be pushed backward, until he felt the wall brush his back.

“Not at all,” Adam winked, making his kisses more insistent, roaming down his jaw and pale throat. Soon the prince was squirming in his arms, helpless with longing.

“Adam-” he gasped.

“I’ve got you,” Adam told him with more self-assurance than he knew he had in him. The prince brought out the best in the slave.

“We _can’t_.”

Adam’s grip at once went slack, and he backed away from the prince as if his skin was brimstone,  “Forgive me, I don’t want to force anything on you, I’ll-”

Samandriel was kissing away the little dip between his brows, closing the space between them once again. “You’re a fool, my love, if you think I don’t want you. I do. But Castiel could be back at any moment, or a guard could come.”

“They’ve no reason to stop us. Slaves rut all the time. Even with princes, if they’re lucky,” the Winchester interrupted with a wink.

“You are incorrigible,” Samandriel told him, as he was maneuvered towards the bed and kissed breathless. When Adam went to join him, he felt the slave’s hardness against his own.

“Have you, um, d-done this before?” he whimpered, hastily parting his legs and shrugging himself out of his oversized shirt. Though the plan was as yet unspoken, both boys were aware of what was to come.

“Can’t say that I have. It seems simple, though,” Adam was quick to assure him, making short work of his own shirt and the prince’s trousers.         

     Soon Samandriel was naked, and blushing cherry pink all over. As opposed to ridding himself of his own breeches, Adam seemed content to admire.

“Have patience, Highness,” he placated while working his way free of his clothes, giving a smile that his prince would tear the world apart to see again. He shifted to situate himself in the space between Samandriel’s calves, near the end of the bed. Amused as he was impatient, Samandriel nudged Adam’s shoulder with his foot. Adam caught him by the ankle, and kept him captive there.

Samandriel’s hips canted upwards, in an impulse seemingly beyond his own control. “Let me go.”

Adam puffed out his chest, playing the fool that Samandriel loved so much. “I refuse. You are henceforth my prisoner.”

Usually such a topic, or indeed such a word would send Samandriel’s mind to a cramped, dark place. But the presence of his little light saved him. He adopted the expression of an innocent maiden at the hands of a fiendish kidnapper.

“Oh please, I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Damned right, you will,” Adam hummed, and placed Samandriel’s foot on his shoulder, taking his other ankle and doing much the same, so that his most delicate parts were exposed. Though instinct screamed for him to clamp his knees shut, desire bade the boy broaden the gap. Adam leaned downward, licking a stripe up the underside of Samandriel’s cock, making him convulse with need and cover his own mouth with both hands, stifling his moans to avoid informing every guard in the tower of what the two were doing. Adam laughed quietly at the strangled little sounds, licking reverently until the prince was slippery, at which point he used his hand. The roughness of his fingers made the ministrations even more perfect, and Samandriel’s hips stuttered, his chest sinking with every intake of air.

“You’re enjoying this,” he accused, toes curled behind Adam’s neck, his spine coiled like the serpent of his family crest.

“You’re not?” the slave chuckled, taking the prince in his mouth without warning. Samandriel gasped, the sensation of soft wet heat overtaking his every sense. His hands clawed in Adam’s hair, mouth a scarlet ‘o’. This seemed to only encourage him, the slickness of his tongue swirled on the slit, hollowed cheeks stroking along sensitive skin, plush lips teasing every inch of him. He finished within seconds.

     Red-faced and whining, Samandriel had expected his love to be fastidious and spit out the mouthful he’d provided. However, he evidently had much to learn, as when Adam smiled up at him his lips were swollen, mouth empty. The heat and the need and the fire in Samandriel’s belly was out, he only knew he felt sated. Satisfied in the purest sense. Meanwhile Adam was nuzzling at his collarbones, where the flush had crept.

“Where did you learn how to _do_ that?” Samandriel inquired, head cocking to the side. There was no reason for Adam’s knowledge about lovemaking to be so extensive, by his own admission the slave had taken no lover before falling for the youngest prince. Unless the rumours about the palace body slaves were true, and Adam had been forced to warm the sheets of some pot-bellied noble, the way Dean Winchester was damned to do.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked-” he stammered, Adam’s silence working as confirmation of his theory. But then Adam was shaking, and there were no tears, only snickers.

“Angel-face, it’s alright. I wouldn’t have known if Charlie hadn’t told me. She took a man before realising it was women she craved. She told me everything one day when we were on kitchen duty during a banquet, and I got curious enough to ask. I’m working on her instructions and advice.”

“You’re a very good listener,” was all the prince could say, sighing out his contentment. Adam kissed the skin below his navel before going to stand up and get dressed, and the prince lay dormant. Only, when Adam went to stand, Samandriel’s leg caught him behind the knee, felling him like a log. As soon as he had his love horizontal on the bed, Samandriel reversed their positions, clambering upwards to straddle Adam’s hips. Happy, albeit surprised, Adam let him.

“An’ what do you think you’re doing?” he questioned passively.

“You didn’t think I was going to let you satisfy me without returning the favour now, did you?”

Adam blinked, not having anticipated this turn of events. Many people mistook Samandriel’s gentle nature for fragility, or even weakness. Apparently even those dearest to him were guilty of such a presumption.

“What do you plan to do?” Adam asked, gazing up as if Samandriel held the moon on a string.

“Well, given that I lack knowledge, what I do would depend on your directions,” Samandriel informed him, a hand drifting down to stroke at Adam’s untouched length. Immediately his stiffness was called upon and returned tenfold, and Samandriel felt power in his palm.

“I-is that so?” Adam responded, squirming with the prince’s indulgence. It was pleasing to see him so vulnerable, throat bare like prey.

“So, you’ll need to tell me what we do next,” the prince went on, squeezing Adam’s cock gently, applying shy pressure. Like his had done, it began to dew at the head’s narrow slit as he kneaded Adam’s length from head to hilt. Just as he had learned to do. Adam was twisting on the bed, possessed with need, which Samandriel had intended. It was gratifying to observe such a response.

“Don’t get cocky yet,” the slave muttered, fisting threadbare sheets in his hands.

“I can stop if you’d prefer,” Samandriel offered.

“No, do not do that. That’s an awful, terrible _dreadful_ idea, most inadvisable,” Adam babbled, arm flung dramatically across his brow to cover his wanton gaze. Only his surface play-acting only covered the vulnerability that came with allowing another to indulge one’s desire.

“Well, then,” Samandriel murmured, mind retracing a journey to the back of his consciousness, to locate a memory from the day he’d reached maturity. Castiel had gifted him with some advice after having warmed a particularly cold evening with a male guard, who’d been only too happy to satisfy the previous King’s son for a couple of hours. He’d told Samandriel all about it, and from the retelling of events Samandriel had learned many things. The first and most important rule, was that one required oil. Lots of oil.

“I take it you brought oils with you, if you climbed through my window with the intent to deflower me?” Samandriel teased, hand not ceasing its motion.

Adam’s smoke blue eyes widened, “How did you kn-”

“You’re not the only one with a helpful advisor,” Samandriel giggled, leaning with one hand to search the little bag Adam had brought with him, which lay abandoned by the side of the bed. As expected, within was a little bottle of clear liquid, probably unused cooking grease. Exactly what Castiel had claimed worked best for the purpose.

Dousing one finger with the oil, he found his way between Adam’s thighs, which subsequently fell open with a groan from the boy. He dipped the digit to the knuckle in Adam’s hot body, making the slave shudder.

“Angel-face...” Adam moaned, looking up at him, breathless and desperate.

“I’ve got you,” Samandriel whispered, moving forward to warm that rosebud mouth with a kiss. The ring of tight muscle that trapped his finger was soon hungry for a second, and the prince obliged at once. As the third finger stretched him, Adam was already falling apart with need, releasing little sounds that Samandriel wanted to listen to forever.

“Please, _”_ Adam begged, leaning forward to perhaps help his case with more kisses. Grinning and indulgent, Samandriel pushed him down by the chest, pressing him flat against the bed.  Next, he moved Adam’s leg out of the way, so he could align himself with his opening. When he pulled out his fingers the slave made an unhappy sound.

“Patience,” Samandriel chided, enjoying his dominion over the wriggling mess he loved so much. Arranging himself so that he was poised at Adam’s entrance, he checked one last time for confirmation, giving his love a chance to say no.

Reading his mind, Adam said, “ _Yes_.”

Samandriel pushed inwards, and his world exploded into fragments of heat and touch and the brown smell of Adam’s hair, the verbena taste of his collarbone skin.  Thrusting backward and then forth, Samandriel felt himself come undone. His hips snapped in and out, toes curling in the thin sheets, heat pillowed in his love’s soft neck. Adam’s arms were around his torso, dirty nails ripping his back, grounding him. Had Adam not been keeping him down, he feared he’d be up with the clouds.

“I’m..I can’t-” Samandriel tried to explain himself, knowing that their current activity wouldn’t last for more than a few minutes before they both were spent.

“I know,” Adam responded, breath fast and harsh in the Milton’s ear, “You can let go.”

 _Let go of what_ , was the question that Samandriel had prepared, but he knew what his love was indicating. There was some invisible, incredible tension built up in his lower abdomen, that was begging to go free. His hips stuttered their motion, the tightness reaching a pique, before he spilled himself out inside of Adam, and the world was quiet again. Still skin and heat and hair and hands, just gentler now. His own limbs felt like soft sleep.

“Are you alright, love?” he asked Adam as soon as he was able, pulling himself from his slave’s tight vice, cupping that warm face. Adam was beatific, counting the cracks on the tower ceiling.

“I’m just perfect, angel,” he assured the prince quietly.

     The two went about business afterward, Adam taking a pail of fire-warmed water to clean himself, and despite what they’d just done the two avoided each other's gaze politely while he washed, despite Samandriel stealing glances of his love’s lean frame. No sooner was Adam clean again, there was a hammering on the door.

Laughing at his prince’s shocked expression, Adam walked to the door as naked as the day he was born, and apparently knew the guard outside, as he made small-talk. This gave Samandriel time to wrestle his way back into his trousers, discarded on the floor far away from the bed they'd shared. He only had time to get them on and wasn’t able to find his shirt, before Castiel was brought inside; hands tied behind his back, guided gently by Adam.

“Cas, what have they done to you?” the younger prince asked, at once going to free him.

     “Nothing terrible,” his brother responded, and Adam moved to help Samandriel with the ropes. They weren’t tight, just secure, and the slave was more skilled in freeing others from bondage than Samandriel was. Castiel was free soon enough, and the brothers folded into each other’s arms, two halves of a Milton whole.

The voices of Castiel and Adam were muffled, as Samandriel’s position meant his hearing was compromised, nuzzled into the expensive fabric of Castiel’s right shoulder. He was soon obliged to surface for some air.

“Do you want to tell me about what happened?” he asked.

Castiel said something about wanting to forget, and given Brady’s reputation, his brother could hardly blame him. There was a smell of delicacy on Castiel’s clothes. He didn’t like it, and said as much.

There was a knock at the door, which shocked the brothers out of their embrace. Adam returned to the doorway, peeking his head out of the frame, then bending down to collect something that had apparently been left. Samandriel was left to admire the view of the slave’s rear, and he felt Castiel chuckle quietly.

“What is it?” the older prince asked.

When Adam closed the door, he was burdened with the weight of a colossal box, which lacked a lid. Thus, it’s contents were visible, and a welcome sight. There was food there, more food than Samandriel had seen in one place since Crowley’s coronation.

“Hope,” Adam said.


	13. A Marigold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> quite a short chapter, more to come. marigolds are traditionally symbolic of pain and grief, which is why canis grew one. cw for graphic mentions of torture in canis/dean's past, i.e tooth pulling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canis retreats to his hideaway in the Eastern Tower, and begins to embrace the man he once was.

Canis did not sleep often. It was counterproductive, and Master hated it when he was idle. But it had been days since he’d closed his eyes last, and he’d purposefully avoided rest after seeing Castiel. It was a terrible thing for him to do, to provide food when Prince Brady had explicitly commanded the prince be starved, but Canis couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t.

Or he wouldn’t.

     Regardless, it had been three nights since he’d slept last, and his eyelids refused to stay open. Master was lost in ritualistic prayer, the King had sent no summons. There was nowhere else for him to be. So he slipped out into the warm evening, crossing the gardens and cutting through the palace grounds. His feet knew where he was going.

There were four towers to the castle, one for every compass point, and the only one that housed prisoners was the Northern tower - Castiel and Samandriel’s home and jailcell. The other unoccupied towers had fallen into disrepair since the overthrowing of the Miltons, and the Eastern room was no different. He climbed the stairs that would lead to it, careful due to the lack of bannister, and at last reached the door he was looking for. It creaked open in it’s ancient way.

     When Canis had first come to understand the nature of his new life, he’d gone through a phase of exploration. He was given free reign of the castle when he behaved himself, so he took to traversing the more dilapidated areas of Crowley’s dominion. He had discovered many a boring room, an empty wing that held nothing but dust, and then finally the Eastern tower. Originally having been the bedchamber and private wing of Princess Anael, the room was pink damask, held a disintegrating four poster bed, shattered looking-glass, dead bunches of hothouse roses and defaced Royal portraits with rusted gilt frames. However, by the round window that overlooked the land beyond the outer wall, there was a swing. It hung from strong ceiling rafters, had a back and armrests, and was wide enough to hold at least four people - or one person lying down. It was said that Anael had been swinging on it when the McLeod army breached the city gates. It still smelled of her perfume.

     Canis told nobody about his hideaway, which made it all the more precious. He hid there when Master beat him bloody, or he didn't feel like traipsing around with every eye in the castle trained on him. Over the years he had snuck many a treasure into the room; old tablecloths for blankets, books he could not read but liked the look of, thought they added style.He didn’t know what possessed him, but during last spring he had scooped damp earth into a cracked goblet, and planted a seed. He hid the goblet in his secret room, and when he visited next it had grown a marigold flower.

     The Eastern tower was the closest thing he’d ever had to a bedroom, even at home as Dean he’d shared with Sammy. So when time came to sleep, he preferred to do it there. Canis went to seat himself upon the swing, letting the motion soothe him like the ever-shifting sea. He had no memory of lying down, or curling up beneath the velvet of a stolen guardsman's cloak, but his eyes had already closed.

 

_"Open wide, little one,” Mama said, and Dean giggled, opening his mouth for the spoon of grain she was offering. Sun was streaming through the window, his perch in his mother’s arms was warm and soft. There was a cooing bundle on his parent’s bed, where a tiny Sammy was kicking around. He grinned, watching their dog, Bones, patrol the strip of grass outside the front door. Everything was sweet and kind, and nothing hurt at all._

_"Open up...there we go…”_

_Dean grinned at his mother, running a hand through the golden hair at her shoulders, and then a question entered his young mind._

_“Where’s papa?”_

_Mary froze. Sammy’s little happy sounds stopped abruptly, and Dean felt the room become colder. There was a crack running up the wall in the corner that had not been there before. Thinking she had not heard him the first time, Dean raised his little voice._

_“Papa, mama. Where’s my papa?” he demanded._

_Mary’s breathing became louder, and her face, though averted, felt darker suddenly. The crack in the wall began to lengthen, walls crumbling to mould and stone. Bones was barking and Sammy was screaming and Dean squirmed to get down from Mary’s arms to go save him, but the arms around him were growing tighter, harsher, and Dean didn’t want to look. He knew who it was, and it wasn’t her. He yelled for her, though, yelled for his baby brother and yelled for the father that wasn’t there, not even in his own dreamworld was he there with them._

_“Come on, Dean,” Alistair grinned, bent over Dean’s prone form in the pit below the castle, holding a metal instrument to the teeth beside his tongue. The pliers closed around a molar, and Dean’s screams grew louder as he felt them loosen under pressure._

_“Open wide for your Master...”_

 

Canis was weeping when he woke up, and once the floodgates had opened he couldn’t help but let them stream. He howled like a broken thing, clutching his chest as he let out breathless, shaking sobs which ended in screams. Nobody would hear him up here. He cried for himself, he cried for the man he’d been when they stole him, and for the collared stranger they had made him into. He caught his reflection in the shattered mirror of the cherrywood vanity.

     “Dean,” he said, tasting the name, the name Castiel would only use for him, the name his father had given him long ago, “My name is Dean Winchester.”

His reflection had John's eyes.


	14. Gently as she Goes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam delivers food to prince Michael, alerting the rightful king to the current situation involving his brothers. We then check back in with Lucifer, for the first time in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the delay, i was busy but now face some free days. big chapters incoming, lads.  
> ~ also, if you notice any spelling mistakes during adam's notes, they are intentional. don't forget, he is still learning to read and write~

_Prince Michal,_

_Meet me owtside tha pavilion by tha coy fowntain at dawn. Crowley is away on bisness as of miday, and he ought to be imersed in plans to leave untill then. I wish to meet with yu on behalf of princes Castiel and Samandriel, I hav gifts for you._

_Tha snake still bares venom in hell._

_Your servant, (but nevar your slave), Adam._

 

 

_Adam,_

_If y_ **_o_ ** _u harbour nothing but benign intentions, and are truly working with my little brothers, prove it to me. Tell me Castiel’s favourite bird, and **the** lullaby Samandriel’s wet nurse sang to him. If you are not working for them and are feeding me lies, there should be no way for you to access this information. If you speak the truth, I will know. _

_The snake, indeed, still_ **_bears_ ** _venom in hell._

_Your prince, (but never your Master), Micha **e** l. _

 

 

_Prince Michal,_

_I hav to admit, now is not tha best time for your tests. Cas says that his favourite bird is a kookaburra becase when he was littul one flew into tha nursery and fritened all tha maids, which made him lauf for hours. Samandriel ragrets to inform you that he canot remember tha lullaby, though he’s certain it had something to do with roses._

_Please meat with me today. I hav had Cas and Samandriel sine this note to prove I’m not lieing about ther involvmant._

  _ _Adam.__

_P.S - Michael, Adam is our closest ally in the tower, please treat him with the respect of which he has proved himself worthy - the princes Castiel and Samandriel (mostly Samandriel)_

_The snake still bears venom in hell._

 

_Adam,_

_I hope I have not offended you. I will be waiting under the cherry tree, the coy fo_ **_u_ ** _ntain has no shelter from prying eyes. Look for the broken man._

_Prince Michael._

 

Adam 

The morning was cold - though Elysium’s weather was unpredictable at best - it was far more crisp than Adam had expected when he set off through the gardens, with pockets full of contraband and a stomach full of iron butterflies. Michael was where he’d said he’d be, hidden under a network of swollen  red.

   “Prince Michael,” Adam introduced himself cautiously, keeping at a safe distance, the villains in his mind even crueller than those all around him. When the figure turned around, Adam found reassurance.

   “You must be my youngest brother’s chosen one,” the prince said bluntly, before a smile showing itself, putting the slave at ease.

Adam had never seen the oldest prince up close, having no reason to seeing as he didn’t serve anywhere near Michael or Lucifer’s quarters. The prince was dressed in a cloak of brown, not as conspicuous as black but not half as attractive or mysterious. With his head bowed and his collar tucked beneath the neck of a roughspun tunic, he looked like a passing tradesman. Not the rightful king of the land who now lived and slept in chains beside the brother who put him there.

The slave was, however, upon second glance, unprepared for Castiel’s eyes and Samandriel’s jaw in a stranger’s bloodless face.

   “It...would seem that way, yes, sir-I mean, your highness,” Adam’s tongue stumbled with the effort of whispering, but for once there was no need. The castle was in a state of ruckus, Anael having created a helpful diversion by wreaking havoc with Crowley’s luggage. No one was around to spy, which was probably how Michael had managed to sneak outside so easily, dressed in no-doubt the stolen garb of a common merchant.

   “You wished to meet with me simply to leer?” the prince inquired, throwing the slave into a silent panic as he chuckled easily to himself. _Well,_ Adam thought crossly, digging in his pockets for the food he had brought, _this prince isn’t half as nice as his juniors._

   “Please, don’t let me upset you,” Michael said, hands up and palms outward. “I don’t get to leave our chambers often, and I miss most opportunities for causing distress to others. Allow me my vices, won’t you?”

   “If that’s how you like to behave,” Adam muttered, shoving a package into the prince’s surprised hands. It was dense and heavy with the weight of the buttered bread, cheese and dried meats which lay within, enough for three people, though no one would bat an eyelid if Lucifer was to be left out. Adam was sure to pack enough of Canis’ bounty to atleast satisfy Anael. He wished he’d packed less, come to think of it, he was not at all impressed with Michael.

The prince said nothing, just turned the package over in his hands, inhaling the aroma of long-forgotten delicacy. Rumour had it that the oldest Miltons were permitted only to eat from Crowley’s table if they begged first, or performed a never ending carousel of purposefully demeaning tasks.

   “How-”

   “Canis has shown an interest in Castiel,” Adam supplied, growing a little impatient. He had few duties today, and his spare time was best spent in a pair of warm young arms. “As prince Brady also has. I’m sure you noticed you stopped being fed a couple of days ago.”

Michael nodded dumbly.

   “That is because Castiel dared to speak up to him. It was punishment, that he knew would hit harder than any penalty that targeted only him. We managed to procure some food, which I bring to you now.”

   “And how did you manage to _procure_ food of such quality?” Michael asked, finding his voice.

Adam worried his lower lip, squaring his shoulders against the chill of the air, as if about to fight nature herself.

   “A friend. I think,” he responded, turning his back and retracing his steps across the gardens, away from his rightful king. It was a good few moments before the brisk wind carried Michael’s words to the slave’s ears.

   “Samandriel’s favourite lullaby. It was ‘gently as she goes’. His wet nurse was of the southern lands where the air is warm, and she had all manner of songs and stories. I imagine it was bothering him somewhat, not being able to remember something that was once so precious.”

Adam smiled into the empty space before him, and raised a hand to the back of his head; a salute. Usually a signal of solidarity used between slaves, it seemed more appropriate than a bow or curtsey.

As he crossed the castle grounds, the old song slithered it’s way into his mouth. Perhaps Samandriel had told him about it once before it escaped from his pretty head. Or perhaps his own mother had sung the same song. Either way he couldn’t keep it from his tongue, where the memory sat, sweet as honey.

_"Lips, ripe as the berries in June, red the rose, red the rose...Skin, pale as the light of the moon, gently as she goes. Eyes, blue as the sea and the sky, water flows, water flows...Heart, burning like fire in the night, gently as she goes.”_

Lucifer 

He was late coming home, but that was only to be expected. Michael did his best, when leaving, to stay gone for as long as possible. Lucifer couldn’t tell if Michael was wanting his own space, or he just sought to cause his brother pain. Whether intentional or not, the latter was always achieved. And it was usually intended as well.

Lucifer shifted, uncomfortable. The Master was away today, as he would be for a good many days, and both brothers had had an ankle chain fitted to prevent them from wandering far. Michael had found a way to worm free of his soon enough, and neglected to share his secret tricks with Luci.

Michael came in, shutting the door behind him, humming a lullaby. Lucifer froze like a rabbit under a fox’s gaze, hoping that if he remained still Michael would not notice him, and therefore not glare or deprive his brother of his blessed company. Alas, Michael noticed him.

He said nothing. That would be more kind than he felt Lucifer deserved, to validate him with his attentions for even half a breath. Michael swung past his chained brother, reaching for the carafe of wine their Master had left for them. Drunk pets were docile pets, after all.

_He won’t even look at me. Even after all this time._

   “Where did you go?” Lucifer asked, dejectedly staring into the fire that burned in the grate.

Michael swung a greasy package onto the table, almost overturning the wine that was their only nourishment. For some days, they had not been given any food.

The package Michael had brought _smelled_ of food, though, and Lucifer’s mouth began to water. He instinctively moved forward, following his nose, but within a second his chain went taut, and he slumped not far from where he’d been.

Michael did not seem pitiful.

   “Please,” Lucifer swallowed. There was none of his pride left to choke on, that had been finished so long ago that he’d forgotten the taste. “Give me some, Michael. Just a little.”

Michael pushed past the outer layers of the packet, bringing out a divided quarter of their generous ration. He took a portion, then placed it on the bed near enough for his brother to get at. He took one, and saved the other, tucking it under his clothes. Doubtlessly it was for Anael.

 Lucifer opened his mouth to say thank you, but the door had swung shut already.

 


	15. Don't Wake Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Conversation between Samandriel and Canis, and the beginning of the end of their enmity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uni starts tomorrow, which means updates will only get more staccato and irregular. sorry, lads. but next chapter is another date with brady, hope you'll enjoy.

It was the dawn that woke Samandriel, and the want to hear the singing birds that roused him from his bed. But it was Canis that stopped him in his tracks as he reached the tiny window, as the shadows moved an inch. Canis surprised him. Without speaking, his hands rose, palms outward. Samandriel’s left hand went to his throat, the other reached for his sleeping brother.

  
   “Don’t wake him.”

  
The prince looked for weapons, finding none. Canis was clean, dressed in leathers neck to ankle to wrist. Totally covered, yet the most exposed he’d ever looked. His torso was angled toward the door, seated near the fireplace, which was crackling. Samandriel had wondered for the missing ache that usually came with waking in that cold tower room. The fire had chased it away.

  
   “Did your Master send you to watch us?” was the brave little question panic tugged from his throat. Not only a query, but a reminder. _You have a Master, you are a slave. You have little power here._  
Canis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  
   “No. Nobody sent me.”

  
   “Then what brings you here to haunt my steps?”

  
It was protective anger that was goading him, that Samandriel knew. This creature made no secret of his want for Castiel, he’d saved their skins no doubt to trick himself between the prince’s thighs. And he may as well have been carrying scorpions in his loincloth.

  
   “You’re scared.”

  
   “Of course I am.”

  
   “Have I not earned your trust by now?” the dog had the nerve to ask, gesturing absently at the hiding place for what was left of the food; the bounty he had brought them, on which they still feasted now, a full week later.

  
“You may think you can bribe your way into my brother’s arms, but not mine.”

  
   “‘Course not,” the dog replied, a grin tugging at the side of his mouth, as if a string was attached there, lifted by an unseen puppet-master. In Samandriel’s mind that manipulator was King Crowley. Or perhaps Alistair.

  
   "I can’t buy you with treats, you’re already bought. By my very own half-brother, if I’m not mistaken.”

  
   “Keep your foul ruminations to yourself,” Samandriel retorted primly, turning his back to check Castiel was still sleeping. Not at all to hide the rising flush of his cheeks and chest. He would lie for Adam if he must, anything for the slave boy who’d made him feel again. Canis did not respond, and silence reigned for a lungful of moments.

  
   “No one sent me to spy on you, and I had no motive in sending you that food.”

  
The words were quiet, undemanding. Searching for deception, Samandriel found none.

  
Somewhere in his mind, a brick from a wall long since erected, began to crumble. This, of course did nothing to allow inside the predators which lurked behind it, waiting to come in. Crowley and Alistair remained where they ought to be, but a lone figure was tapping away at the stones, the son of a fallen hero. Samandriel did not pick up the brick.

  
   “Then I am supposed to believe that you fed us, and now watch over us, with no ulterior motive?” Samandriel demanded. Fear handed him boldness, and the King’s Dog didn’t seem to mind.

  
   “Correct.”

  
   “And what could you possibly hope to gain in doing so?”

  
Canis looked a little put out at the question. As if he had elected not to consider it.

  
   “Nothing. In fact, if I was found here, you…”

  
He fingered the collar that he wore under his clothes, out of sight for once.

  
   “...You don't want to know what would happen.”

  
   “No,” Samandriel said softly, sitting on the edge of the cot, feeling Castiel’s hot body shift, “I don’t believe I do.”

  
   “So you understand me,” Canis said, an edge of desperation on his tongue. He looked fidgety, as if he couldn’t clasp his hands enough, nor could he help his eyes from flitting along the ceiling. The man clearly had not been sleeping. Another brick looked set to fall.

  
   “Perhaps I may do soon,” was all Samandriel would give, and they both saw the spear of dawnlight come through the high window.

  
   “Your brother will be collected in an hour or so for a rendezvous with his betrothed,” Canis was saying when Samandriel was finished rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He’d stood up already, gathering his knitted bones to leave in a trail of questions.

  
   “How-”

  
   “There’s not much that happens in this place that I don’t hear about,” was the dog’s answer. “Try to act hungry. Don’t forget, you’ve both been starving for a week.”

  
Those words had Samandriel pressing into the concave of his ribs.

  
   “And don’t tell Castiel about my visit, if you would be so kind,” was the final sardonikc request, before, soundlessly, Canis swung the door shut behind him, the soles of his feet velvet-soft on the steps downward.

Samandriel waited to hear the distant door wheeze shut before shaking his brother.  
   “Castiel, wake up. The King’s Dog was just here!”


	16. Do not Bow to them (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is prompted to discover his own power, and the game begins. Conclusion of this chapter pending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the encouragement, had to split this long chapter into two parts. if you notice any minor inconsistencies, pls bear with me. i'm just getting back into the swing of this fic

Castiel and Samandriel had barely any time to converse, given that there was so much to convey, but somehow they managed. Castiel, bleary-eyed, sat docile on the bed as Samandriel poured out the moments he had slept through. The whole, bizarre conversation.

   “He wants us to trust him,” Castiel said finally, “Why would he want us to trust him if not for the purpose of an underhanded motive?”

   “I don’t think that's it,” Samandriel shook his head. “So help me, Castiel, I don’t know what to think or why I think it - but I believe him. I believe, eventually, I may even trust the man.”

Castiel looked at him for a long moment.

   “Truly?”

   “Truly.”

Castiel rubbed tired hands over tired face, loosing tired sleep crystals from his eyes. As he did so, Samandriel’s attentions were captured by a small family of spiders making their way horizontally up the wall and towards a crack in the brick they called home. But something was barring their way.

   “There’s something in the wall.”

In a mere moment Samandriel was up and off the bed, stumbling to the wall while his unprepared legs protested all the while. There was a tiny roll of parchment, so tightly compressed that it was invisible. He, himself would not have noticed had it not been for the evicted militia of arachnids. 

   “A message?” Castiel queried, hand on the young prince’s shoulder. Samandriel handed it over, and Castiel was unravelling the paper. The words were succinct.

 

**Do not bow to them. You hold more power than you know.**

****\- D.W.** **

 

 The message, while vaguely ominous, held encouragement. Castiel bit his lower lip as he tore it to tiny shreds with long fingers. Let no one find the evidence.

   “I will find an excuse to talk to him - he hovers during my visits with Brady, anyway. If he favours sending messages then so begins our correspondence.”

Samandriel nodded, new information causing the space between his temples to swell.

   “That might work, when do the guards collect you?”

There was the noise of several guards clattering up the spiral stairs. Both boys’ necks snapped to the direction of the sound, and Castiel’s hung at the end of his spine.

   “ _Speak of the devil, and he will come_.”

   “Think of me, think of us,” Samandriel said, peppering his brother’s forehead and cheeks with dry kisses. “Don’t let him in, Castiel.”

   “They are already inside,” Castiel smiled drily, taking Samandriel’s hands in his and holding them to his mouth to cup his words. To hold them close to him while he endured the current royal family. But something strengthened him.

 The guards were much surprised to find the crown prince coming out to address them, as opposed to crouching in his chambers waiting to be molested by cold chains. The boldest one stepped forwards as Castiel smoothly shut the chamber door behind his back.

   The guard frowned. “My orders are-”

   “To bind me, yes, I know,” were Castiel’s words, back straight as a sword as he swept past them, just close enough not to merit an unwanted shove. The tug o war that illustrated their power was beginning to grow taught on his side. _Do not bow to them._

   “But I am not inclined to allow you to manhandle me this morning. Escort me to the bathhouse, if you please. I wish to be prepared for an afternoon with my betrothed.”

Each guard spluttered in a different note and key.

   “Prince, if you think-”

   “What was your name, again?” Castiel inquired.

The older woman stopped in her tracks, sucking her pale front teeth.

   “Telesca.”

   “ _Ann_ Telesca?”

   “Yes.”

Castiel made a point of mulling over the information. How interesting - the Telesca family had been sworn to the Novaks for as long as his education served him. That having been said, he had been neglecting his studies.

   “You are Ruby’s replacement, are you not?”

There was an audible shuffle of feet among the guards which ripped southward. The captain’s loss was still felt, even among soldiers outside her division.

   “I am,” Ann responded, looking no more patient than she had done before. However, she had made no move to grab him, nor had anyone.

   “Then I wish you the very best of luck,” Castiel smiled, inclining his head. He smiled the way animals did; he showed teeth sharp for the kill. “It would be so dreadful to see you end up like your predecessor.”

Had the lackeys of Crowley’s royal family always been so simple to manipulate? Or had fear dulled the prince so much? The soldiers, for the most part, ducked their heads. Ann raised her helmet to her head, as if to block out the sight of the prince with power in his jaw.

   “To the bathhouse. One step out of line and I’ll chase you down like game.”

   “I do hope so,” Castiel said quietly, cracks deepening on the inside as he began to play the game he’d been a captive piece in for so many long years. “I wouldn’t want Crowley to hear you’d softened to the plight of my family.”

No other words were said down the long winding stairs, and the only sound that graced their ears was the giggling of a blonde prince locked in a tower.

* * *

Eve and Asta were already waiting for him when he arrived at the bathhouse, both looking completely bewildered when they saw him unrestricted.The two had been standing elbow to elbow by the entrance, both dressed scantily as was their apparent custom, and for some reason Eve’s throat was flushed pink, and the rouge on Asta’s lips was smudged. Both seemed generally flustered, and it occurred to Castiel that, since he had refused to be chained, his escort was running ahead of schedule.

Carefully, Castiel tucked two new pawns into his pocket, unseen.

* * *

The guards made themselves scarce, and despite his newfound power, Castiel was prevented from growing cocky by the two women chaining him in the centre of the bathhouse and washing him thoroughly, as they had done before. Eve was, however, a little less taunting than she had been before. Perhaps she was tired.

Finally, Castiel stood before a wall-height looking glass, that seemed to have been added since the last time he stood there, too ashamed to behold his reflection. This time he cracked open an eye, and caught a dash of plum. Swollen lips painted mauve, silver powder under deep blue eyes. Moon-white pigment dusted over the high points of his cheeks, and the scent of crushed grape.

   “What a wonderful little harlot you are,” Asta crooned from behind his shoulder, a pale attempt to humiliate him.

   “I must agree,” said Castiel.


End file.
